Assassin's Creed: Independence
by kujago
Summary: When her apartment building is blown apart by an unknown force, Renley's life is thrown into disarray as she and her siblings are thrust into a newly-seen realm of warring ideals. Soon after, when it is discovered that she possesses First Civilization blood and one of their sacred artifacts, the Assassins and Templars are thrown into a race against time and blood. Modern Era AU.
1. Epigraph

This story is accompanied with a banner drawn with all the characters on it. To view this banner, please visit the link on my profile since I cannot post links here. If that doesn't work, the banner is on display on its own subreddit, /r/ACIndependence. Thank you and enjoy the story!

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 _"There is not a pure soul left in this world,_

 _There is only blood and the veins that carry it._

 _I am the veins, brother. I have always been the veins._

 _Together we are the blood, but the past has corrupted it._

 _Contaminated it._

 _Tainted it._

 _Independent of blood, that's what you must become._

 _But fear not,_

 _For tainted blood is the most independent of all."_


	2. ACT 1: Chapter 1 - RENLEY

**RENLEY**

The explosion jarred her awake from her brief slumber, and there was no time to recollect what had happened, only time to act. Her bright eyes scanned the pale darkness of the small, musty apartment until a bright light illuminated the room. She was laying on her mattress on the floor, with tattered articles of clothing everywhere around her.

A small child gripped the back of her shirt, a little girl around two years old, and her sister.

"Rennie... No..." The child whined, and slowly opened up her sleepy blue eyes, her dirty brown hair sticking up at odd angles. The child always slept with her older sister. Not enough room elsewhere, their mother would warn.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Wake up, we have to go." The girl said with a forced calm tone, making her movements carefully.

Stay calm, stay calm, she kept repeating in her mind. She had to be calm to get her family out of this. Another explosion shook the building, but it was not theirs. _Not yet,_ she thought.

The girl rushed to her dresser, where half of it was leaning to the left, an ode to her stepfather who had broken it a few weeks ago. She grabbed a tattered green backpack and stuffed it with any loose clothing she could find, both her own clothing and her sisters'. She made sure she had her only prized possession around her neck, a tiny diamond-shaped golden shard. It always brought a sense of comfort to her, but even a false hope couldn't quench her fear now. Sirens blared outside, and the light grew faint as smoke shielded their glow.

The girl's sleepy sister sat up straight and rubbed her eyes with her thick toddler hands. She shared Renley's eyes and chocolate-colored hair. Her pajamas were too small for her, but then again, how could they afford new clothes?

"Rennie, I'm scared," The girl started to cry out as the instinctual sense of panic came over her as well.

"It's alright, come on, we need to get everyone out." The older sister calmed her down, picking her up.

The older girl opened her door to the small apartment, and her eyes fell upon the couch, where an older woman was laid out, arm over her eyes, passed out. Her grayed-out brown hair was clustered around her aging face like a cobweb of recent neglect. _She would have been beautiful if she wasn't an addict_ , the eldest would say.

"Mom," The older girl put down the little one, and looked at her. "Leila, go wake Theo and Jack. Now!" She instructed the little girl. To her surprise, Leila perked up her gaze and waddled down the short hallway to her brother's room.

Another explosion shook the building, sending Renley into a panic for the sister she just sent off. A part of the ceiling started to crack. The girl rushed over to her passed out mother on the couch, and tried to shake her awake.

"Mom! Mom, the building's gonna fall! Something happened... MOM!" She screamed, like she had had to do several other times in the past. Come on, just this once.

Her mother simply mumbled something incoherent and turned over. How could she be so oblivious? Several seconds passed before she'd utter those same stagnant words, "Renley... get the... fuck outta 'ere..."

Renley Kipling. Renley Kipling was her name, and her mother was nothing more than a parasite with the face of a woman to her. The only thing that made her "mom" was the blood they shared. She was simply the lady who was "forced" to take care of her children. Mom never wanted anything to do with the family. Oh, no. Renley had to do it herself, when Mom's drug-using husband wasn't around. Speaking of which, he _wasn't_ around, which was a good thing considering the abusive, shallow-cheeked addict would just get in the way. She hated that man.

Her "mother" was nothing to her... But yet... still her mother. Her own blood. Did blood mean anything? Renley never thought so.

"Reniiiie!" Her little sisters cry broke through Renley's conflicted thoughts. She turned to see her little sister hand-in-hand with a four-year-old boy with messy dark hair and sleepy eyes, and an older boy around eight trailing behind her.

"Renley, I heard the explosions b-but I couldn't move... what are we gonna d-do?" The older eight-year-old boy asked, panic thick in his voice.

"Jack, go get your backpack and get as much clothes in there as you can," The two boys scampered back to their rooms, the older brother Jack in the lead. They were always keen to listen to Renley. "Leila... Leila!"

The little girl had gone over to her mother, tugging on her arm. It's when she did this that Renley noticed the blood vessels in her mother's arm, and the needles between the couch cushions. She grabbed Leila's wrist in a panicked jerk before she would accidentally poke herself.

"Leila, no..." Renley said softly, but Leila started to cry.

"Mommy! Wake up! Bad noise!" She sobbed, tears trailing down her face.

Mom didn't wake up. She was too far gone, as she had been for the past seven years.

Renley picked up her crying sibling and went into the kitchen, opening up every cabinet she could see. There was never enough food. Renley managed to find a few cans of soup and threw them into the backpack before grabbing Leila again.

In the living room, Jack also tried to wake up Mom. He looked up at Renley with the most defeated, desperate expression she'd seen him have.

"Jack... No. We... we can't." She huffed bitterly, biting the inside of her lip.

Jack looked down at Mom and then back to his little brother Theo, who was clinging to his leg, staring at Mom's passed out form.

 _ **BOOOOM!**_

An explosion crashed from above.

Her building. That was her building. An alarm started blaring loudly in their ears as only one choice was made painfully clear: run or die. The smell of smoke hit her nostrils in a flare of panic, making her choke briefly.

"FOLLOW ME!" Renley yelled above the sound and smoke. "JACK! GRAB THEO!" She shouted, grabbing her own little sister, who was screaming in fear, hands over her ears.

Renley opened the door to the hallway of the building, where it was absolute chaos. The building was shaking as Renley spun to her right just as a man came sprinting down towards her. She only made out his terrified expression as he whipped by, heading for the far right stairwell, before a huge part of the ceiling crashed on top of him in a flash of smoke and dust, the rubble breaking down to the floors below it. The ash began to burn in her throat, a constant beating reminder of the danger enclosing on them.

The cracks in the ceiling turned into falling rubble. She ushered her siblings down the opposite way, towards the left stairwell, just as a huge piece of rubble groaned above her. Renley snapped her head up, feeling something burn on her chest.

The necklace.

"RUN!" Renley tried to shove the kids into the stairwell, but the ceiling didn't oblige, and crashed. The girl snatched at the burning necklace, holding her other hand in the air instinctively.

No crash... No crash... None at all?

Renley opened her eyes that were shut in her flinch, to find that the rubble had been split around them, leaving the family unharmed. A small golden glow surrounded her, but it quickly dissipated.

Her siblings cried and stared at her, but she forced them into the stairwell. No more time, the necklace wouldn't spare them again so soon.

Sweat dripped down her face as they made their descent along with several other panicked people, almost falling several times as rubble fell from the ceiling and walls. She looked behind her to see Jack giving a crying Theo a piggyback, keeping up with Renley. He'd stepped up recently, especially the times when Renley couldn't, or refused.

 _Only a few more floors_... Renley thought, pursuing that desperate hope.

People were clamboring down the steps, some looking more frightened or injured than others. Families, parents, kids... and Renley and her little family were among them. Another explosion high above made everyone run faster than before. A body fell with a sickening smack on the steps just to the left of Renley. Luckily, Leila's face was buried in Renley's shoulder as her tiny body clung to her. She wasn't sure about the boys.

She had to get them out... now. What was even happening? A terrorist attack? Something else entirely?

Yes! The exit!

As Renley stepped outside through the hoard of people, she turned as Jack and Theo raced after her.

They barely made it through the exit before the stairs behind them crumbled. She looked up in horror to see the entire top half of the building in flames, along with the building next to it. _Why? Why?!_ Renley thought. Who could just do this?

"EVERYONE, MOVE! OUT OF HERE!" A man's booming voice shouted over the gasps and screams of the pedestrians around.

Everyone moved as a pack, and Renley had to grab Jack's hand just to keep him in tow through the mob of people. Time seemed to slow down as they ran, and Renley couldn't help but look around her.

A mother sobbed hysterically over the burned body of her child, a husband carried his wife to safety, her leg bloody... A lone child screaming for his mother... Wait.

Renley cut through the crowd over to the child, a boy only around the age of six.

"Mommy..." He sobbed, his face battered and tears staining his face.

"Come with me, there's no time!" Renley said in a rushed tone, holding out her hand. Her instinct to protect was too strong. The little boy clutched her hand, still crying, but she didn't think he saw any other choice.

She had no time to ask the little boy questions, as everyone was rushing away from the burning buildings. The smell of ash threatened to choke them as the putrid smell of what must've been burning flesh filled their nostrils. That could've been her family, Renley thought. Burned alive.

She wondered who could have caused such an atrocious crime.

All these innocent people... why? Her family at such high risk... they never did anything to deserve this. Why now?

Renley vowed to herself that she'd find out who did this. She'd find out who did this, and they would pay the price.

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 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Welcome to Assassin's Creed: Independence! I've been writing this story for two years now and I am so excited to tell its tale. Please read + review, it helps me gauge how I'm doing, and also critique if you want! Random, but if you're wondering why this "modern day AU" has Ezio in the characters slot, wait until a little later in Act 1... Mostly, this story is original and deviates from the main plot of the games (you'll see exactly how later on), but trust me... if you enjoy action, adventure, mystery, and a well-crafted cast of characters, I will not disappoint, I assure you. And if I do? Tell me! :) Thank you, and I truly hope you enjoy!_


	3. ACT 1: Chapter 2 - JON

**JON**

Philadelphia was a city that Jon Connington enjoyed with a wholehearted sense of pride. He was part of a monthly meeting at Abstergo's Philadelphia building, so he usually took the train down for the day. It was only a few hours down from New York, which meant he was often back home within the day. Whenever he was forced to stay overnight, he stayed at the Continental Hotel, a large building that reminded Jon of the Algonquin Hotel, located on Benjamin Franklin Parkway, and ate at his favorite Indian restaurant in the US for dinner at Sitar India on 38th Street near Drexel University. His wife had grown up in Philadelphia and Jon would often visit her parents before they moved to Boca Raton.

But this stay was not a quick overnight stay. Jon was preparing for the unveiling of Abstergo Global, an expo centered on the reveal of Abstergo's massive brand shift. All departments of Abstergo would be there to unveil new products of every sort. Abstergo Technology would unveil the Apollo Batteries, limitless batteries made from First Civilization technology. Abstergo Air would reveal the new Abstergo jetliners that would run on cleaner oil, and Abstergo Entertainment planned to reveal the first trailer for their new film _"Devils of the Caribbean_ " and the spin-off video game of the same name. Abstergo representatives booked up the Continental, so Jon spent his days in hotel rooms and conference rooms, calling managers and car fleet operators. The first day, he was given a tour of the planned expo. The fair would run all the way up Ben Franklin Parkway with the main stage on the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. Larger departments of Abstergo would have spots in the park along the road, while smaller exhibitors and activities would be scattered around the exhibition, with the "base camp" of the smaller activities being at Logan Circle. After that, he had to sit through a mind-numbingly boring security meeting with Abstergo Security, Philadelphia police, the art museum security, and even Philadelphia Parking Authority. The Continental was chosen for its proximity to the Ben Franklin Parkway as well as connection to downtown.

Three days into the pre-planning of the event, Jon was able to get three hours off. He and his wife decided to walk around the city. He wore a leather jacket, a button-up shirt, and jeans while his wife wore a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt. She had bright blonde hair, crisp light blue eyes, and prominent cheekbones, while Jon had a more pale hair color which was cropped short. They went to see Independence Hall, had lunch with old friends, and all the while Jon never even touched his phone. It felt good to not have to worry about his other, more consuming job. It was around 8 PM when Jon and his wife Alana had Indian food at a local restaurant, the night coming forth as city lights sparked awake.

As they walked out of the place, the ground suddenly shook four times and a few people began to scream. _That wasn't a subway or a truck,_ Jon thought, remembering his past experiences. He had been at war, he knew the differences. The few cabs he saw were stopped, their drivers talking excitedly on their phones, radios, or to each other. Luckily, he didn't have to rely on a taxi. Joshua North, their driver, stood waiting by their black BMW sedan. He wore a simple black button up shirt and khakis. The young man in his late twenties kept a vigilant eye out for trouble.

"What the hell just happened?" Jon yelled out. The murmur on the street rose to loud talking and a few people shouting. He heard sirens in the background suddenly blare in their deafening warning call.

"I don't know sir, but it sounded like it came from downtown," Joshua replied. His strong and stoic glance had given way to a worried look.

"Get us back to the hotel!" Jon ordered. All three of them piled into the car.

"You…You don't think something's happened to the hotel?" Joshua asked as he drove. Jon didn't reply. "I'm just worried because Natalya is there." Abstergo had planned an art exhibition at the museum the first night of the expo and invited Natalya, a fellow coworker of Jon's, along to play at the exhibition. Alana seemed surprised at Joshua's worry and shot Jon a look that meant her curiosity had been piqued. Jon was not surprised. He had grown to enjoy Joshua's company and gave Joshua Natalya's phone number. From what little he had been told, the two were getting along rather nicely.

"I didn't know you cared so much for Natalya!" Alana brought up despite the situation. She never panicked much in these situations.

"It's my doing, sweetheart," Jon admitted, playing along. "I thought they'd make a cute couple, so I set them up."

"And I'm very grateful for it, Mr. Connington. Watch out!" Joshua replied. He took a hard right onto a busy street, and then turned onto a side street after he saw that the way was blocked. Alana smiled at Jon and placed a kiss on his cheek, the two acting not very concerned as of yet.

"I keep telling you, call me Jon," Jon said, grabbing onto his wife and the door.

"Don't let my husband's rough exterior fool you," Alana joked. "He's a romantic at heart. He tells people that I had to break him down and convince him to get married, but he was in love with me the minute we met."

"Very true," Jon replied with a cheeky smirk. But any further romantic conversation was ended when they pulled up around a block of tall buildings that had obstructed their view for some time, and noticed that two parts of Philadelphia's skyline were gone. The Continental and a neighboring apartment building, both that looked down on Ben Franklin Parkway, were gone. A cloud of ash rose defiant over the city and spread. Only ruins remained on the ground. The smell of rubble and ash and fire brought back memories hidden away in Jon's subconscious. Buried there since he left the military. An image of a burnt out Iraqi tank, a collapsed Iraqi tenement building lit by fire, flames licking at a painting of Saddam Hussein on the side. His memory shifted again, ten years times to Manhattan in 2001. The ash choked streets of that horrendous day. But Jon did not lose faith. That day only cemented his drive to make the world a better place with Abstergo. To save people from themselves. _To create a world where no one feels pain or loss or terror_.

Jon ordered Joshua to stop the car and get out.

"Joshua! Get the first aid kit out of the trunk! Alana, help him! We're going to have wounded," Jon ordered. He was worried that his tone was too harsh but his wife nodded understandingly. She saw that this was not businessman Jon Connington; this was Corporal Jon Connington, First Cavalry Division. Joshua's face was numb. Jon ran up to him and grabbed his shoulders.

"Listen to me soldier! We're going to have wounded!" he bellowed. "And you need to help them and organize the police response!" He nodded finally and opened the trunk. A few police cars began showing up and Alana and Joshua filled them in on what was happening. Jon pulled off his leather jacket, slipped his phone and wallet inside and threw them into the back seat of the car before he vaulted over the black railing that encircled a patch of grass and sprinted the ten yards towards the ruins with a newfound speed. Finally he arrived and found a group of people walking aimlessly in a cloud. More people had survived then he would have thought. He counted at least two-dozen survivors from the apartment building that flanked the Continental. Police lights flashed near the ruins of the Continental, not nearly as ruined as the apartment building and at least two floors were still, tentatively, standing.

"It's okay!" Jon cried. "You're okay! Just follow my voice we're going to get you to safety!" They turned towards him numbly and walked like corpses towards him.

"That's right! Come on!" Jon urged. He led a few of them towards some benches and helped people sit down. A few had burns on their arms, legs or torsos. One man was very badly burned. Jon kept him separate from the group so as to not alarm anyone. An EMT that had rushed from a just-arrived ambulance got him stable and thanked Jon. The cloud of ash began to dissipate, revealing the ruins. A few people began to sob. Jon went to gathered survivors and asked them their names. Finally he stopped on a young girl, maybe 16 or 17, with bright eyes and hair pulled back into a chaotic ponytail of dirty brown hair. She held a little girl in her arms, a toddler. _Daughter?_ Jon wondered. It certainly wouldn't be an odd occurrence nowadays with teens… _Maybe a sister?_ He hoped silently.

At her feet sat three young boys, two that looked like the older girl and one that did not look anything like them, his blond hair contrasting with the group's dark hair. All of them were wearing pajamas. The boys wore loose fitting sweatpants and dirty shirts a few sizes too big while the toddler girl wore a set of pajamas obviously a size too small for her. The oldest girl was the only one wearing pajamas that seemed to fit her, long pants and a faded Philly's shirt.

"What's your name?" Jon asked the girl. He got down on a knee and scanned the children. They only had some dust on them, no injuries.

"I'm Renley Kipling," the older girl said. Judging by her voice she didn't trust him. Jon paused when he heard that last name. He had been hearing the last name "Kipling" too many times. Not in books or TV, but in the reports that move through his desk. Someone called "Subject 21" had a connection to a cousin with the surname Kipling. Whoever this Subject 21 was, and he did know, he was very important to Jon's superiors. And very dangerous. Black hair, two different-colored eyes that could see into your soul even from the picture Jon had seen, and a knack for not dying under even the most dire circumstances. Jon had been in this business long enough to know that you want to avoid someone who gets mentioned by people like Laetitia England frequently in emails. _Could she have a connection?_ Jon thought at the girl. He put the thought aside. There were probably tons of people with that last name.

"These are my siblings. Leila, Theo and Jack." She said quickly, not making an effort to point out which one each name went to. _She doesn't trust me, is she involved in this some how?_ Why else would she be distrustful of him? It was odd, she should be more panicked.

"This little boy was lost, so we rescued him from the lobby of our apartment building," Renley explained. She pointed to the boy with blond hair, before ruffling his hair.

"What's your name?" Jon asks the little boy. He was not the best with kids, though his wife might be able to help.

"I'm….I'm E-Eric," he said in a low whimper. "Do you know where my momma is?" Jon looked to Renley. She shook her head slowly and shrugged.

"We're going to find her, buddy. But right now you need to be brave. Can you do that for me?" Jon asked. The boy wiped a tear from his eye and nodded slowly. He smiled and stood up. Police officers were now on the scene and Jon motioned for them.

"I found these people wandering around the apartment buildings ruins," Jon told the officer.

"Are these the only ones who survived?" The officer asked Jon. He turned to the group.

"The Hannon family was the first one down," an older woman spoke up from nearby. She had a few cuts and bruises on her face. "They got out of the back. There might be a few people in the alley." The officer turned to relay all of this over his microphone clipped on his shirt.

"And this young man is missing his mother," Jon told the officer lastly. He motioned to Eric, the little boy. The officer nodded, gently taking the boy's hand.

"Once we contain the site, we'll get social services down here to attend to anyone missing," the officer said professionally. Jon knew that voice. It was the same voice he had used when fleeing Iraqi families wailed at him to find their missing children or husbands. His sergeant had told him that it was impossible to truly help everyone. Maybe that was what drove Jon to Abstergo? To join an organization that truly helped everyone. Whatever it was, now was not the time to ponder his life choices.

"We need to make room for emergency vehicles, so you people will need to clear out of here," the officer ordered. "Wounded can follow me, but if you're not badly wounded, then move from this site and stay in a group."

"My wife and driver are parked across the way. I'll take them over there," Jon said, pointing to the sedan a few yards away. The officer nodded. Jon was left with six people while the others crowded the ambulances for their burns. Some were bad injuries, while others were minor scrapes. But Jon understood that they were not thinking rationally at this time.

"Why did you do that?" a voice asked. He turned to see the girl, Renley, walking close to him. Her siblings followed along, just wanting to be near their sister. They looked panicked, too frightened to speak.

"What?" Jon raised an eyebrow. He was reminded about Subject 21 again.

"Helping that little boy. You don't know us, you don't know any of us. Why help?" She pressed. Jon shrugged. The oldest boy looked at Renley as if telling her to not be rude, but stopped himself.

"Because it's the right thing to do. I believe in a better future, a world of peace. If we are to achieve that, then those strong enough to make that happen must step forward and take charge," Jon said. She chuckled.

"Are you with the Quakers in the city? That American Friends group? Because that sounds like part of their rhetoric, mixed with a hint of Darwinism," She laughed, coughing on ash the smallest amount as Jon smirked. Smart as a whip, this one.

"I am a philanthropist, just not the ones that sit by and make useless protests," Jon admitted. Renley was silent. When they got to his car, Alana hugged him.

"You disappeared into that cloud and I was so worried for you," she cried. Jon patted his wife's back.

"It's okay sweetheart," he replied with a smile. He motioned to Renley and the survivors. "These are the unharmed survivors that I found." Alana nodded and helped Joshua clean them up. They had gotten a pack of water bottles and were passing them out to the survivors as well as blankets to wrap themselves in. A cool wind had started up that was blowing the ash into an ominous cloud hanging above the Ben Franklin Parkway. Alana chatted with the smallest of Renley's siblings, who finally showed signs of positivity despite their panic. Jon smiled at the sight. When the two were married, they both agreed that they did not want children as they both preferred to focus on work rather than raising a family. _Perhaps I should bring it up? With technology these days, I'm sure Alana could become pregnant._ Abstergo might even do it for free... No. Not now.

Jon ordered Joshua to take them out of here. After getting them all into the car, which was a process since they were pretty crammed in there, he sat up and reached into his pocket and found a round pin with a red crusader cross on it. Jon pulled the cap off and stuck it through the lapel of his shirt as they drove north to a safer location in the city.

 _May the Father of Understanding guide us in these dark days ahead..._


	4. ACT 1: Chapter 3 - JET

**JET**

The bus screeched onwards after the fourth-or-so stop, jerking forwards at the slightest touch of the driver's foot. A venerable yet decrepit model, most likely. Outside, the overcast sky allowed only a faint glow of sun through it, the gray clouds matching the slate-colored city below it. Inside the bus, a pair of strange bright eyes gazed out of the window, sparkling brightly before falling to shadow as the eyes' owner shifted to view the streets instead of the clouds.

The young man shifted a dark gray hood over his face, hiding an unruly mop of pitch black hair that was still somewhat kempt despite its tendency to curl at the ends. As the bus slowly fell to another stop near the Ben Franklin Parkway, the man stood up and slowly made his way to the front of the bus just as the driver began a brief announcement.

"The next stop on North 23rd is on detour due to the recent attack, continuing to next stop at Logan Square." The driver announced in a gravelly voice.

The young man ignored the driver, knowing the situation already. Terrorists, they're calling them. Happened just yesterday, and he had made a beeline for the city as soon as possible to acquire a grasp on the situation. It was his mission, after all, assigned by mostly himself to check it out, but of course the Mentors had had a say in it as well. It was likely there was other business at hand here.

This man's name was Ezekiel Jacob Akulov, but he'd much prefer the name Jet, an acquired name from his years in the Assassin Brotherhood, the true fighters of freedom. _Because even the terrible things like me deserve freedom to face the consequence of life._ His new name was something he earned, and earning a status was something that meant a lot to him. Jet was one of the best in the Brotherhood by modern standards; A Master Assassin at the age of 20 gave any reason for the young man to boast. To him however, his rank was nothing more than a title, but a title that he worked for. He never boasted about his standings in the Brotherhood, he was content with them. He was trusted, capable, if a bit hotheaded at times, but he never asked for a higher rank. As much as he tried, Jet knew he would never be a true leader, not with his track record at least. He knew it was fair in the end, though. Everyone in this world has a place, and his was not quite at the top.

Of course, he could always dream about it.

Jet Akulov made his way down the cracked sidewalks of Philadelphia, hood still raised to avoid any direct suspicion. Jet never liked keeping his hood up for so long though, because suspicion could arise just from that. It was a game he had to play, a game he knew well. Those strange eyes scanned many faces in the crowds he came across, all of their features stored inside his photographic mind that worked a little more overtime than normal. It wouldn't be rare for Jet to see shadows on the corners of his vision where there were none, or for an obsidian-colored cat with bright yellow eyes to be peeking out of a building's window. On the proper medication, the abnormalities in his mind and ears were kept at a minimum, but they were never far.

When he turned the corner, most of the street was cut off by yellow police tape, and a multitude of police cars, SWAT vehicles, and other various specialists were sprawled about the rubble-strewn street. Dust began to flick at Jet's well-worn All-Stars, making the faded red turn a rusty tan. Jet moved his gaze to the buildings themselves, which were only half-standing, but at least no smoke was spewing out of them like it showed on the news more than a dozen times.

"...They're reporting over fifteen deaths and as many as forty injuries, and of those forty, sixteen are in critical condition," A blonde newscaster announced into a large camera held by a sturdy man, the wires connecting the camera attached to a nearby news vehicle. Jet noticed another reporter on the opposite side of the rubble doing the same broadcast but with a different television channel. "There is no word on the culprit of these bombings, but we have specialists live at the scene, who say they will have a public report by the end of the day. We will be stopping our regular broadcasting immediately and bring you live, right here in Philadelphia, for the announcement when it happens. Back to you, George." The reporter signed off, and the cameraman gave her a wave to signal to her that she's offline. With a sigh, she immediately broke her solid character and wiped her brow, before looking at the rubble behind her in what could be described as a mix of exhaustion and bafflement.

Jet proceeded to walk closer to the yellow tape where other people were looking at the collapsed buildings in shock and sadness. He looked at the nature of the explosions... the bottoms of the buildings looked the least unharmed, meaning that the bombs were likely set off somewhere on a top floor, or perhaps even the roof. These apartments were only five stories high, nothing important at all besides being residential, one a hotel. It was likely that it could be some pyromaniac that snapped and had something personal against a tenant of the apartments, or it could be what Jet had come here for: something dealing with either the Assassins or Templars. Unlikely though, considering both sides had strict rules about this type of violence. _Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent_ , a tenet of the Brotherhood read. That was a reason why the Mentor named Thomas had assigned this to Jet; just one Assassin at the scene would be more than enough since this didn't seem like a targeted attack... But it could have been rogue Assassins, Jet thought. Abstergo _was_ having an expo here, if he remembered the report right. It wouldn't be rare, more and more rogues had been popping up in the last ten or so years.

"Sir, please step away from the tape," A stern voice growled at Jet, the voice coming from a beefy police officer who walked over, hands at his belt. He looked tired, bags under his eyes, and Jet could almost taste the tang of coffee on his breath.

 _Don't worry officer, I'm white,_ Jet wanted to spit as the officer got a look at him. Fighting police injustice was a forefront of the Brotherhood lately.

"Sorry, sir, just looking... My friend was in that attack." Jet said, trying to make casual conversation for any possible leads this officer might have.

The officer bowed slightly and sighed, looking back at the rubble with a more complacent expression than before towards him. "Sorry, kid. Are they alright, do you know?"

Jet felt his eye twitch slightly. _Call me "kid" again, and I'll make you swallow that shiny name tag on your chest._

"Yes, they're okay, thankfully. Anyone you know get hurt?" Jet asked, forcing his tone into a higher pitch as he spoke. He liked to call it his "innocent lost teenager" voice. Worked like a charm with the right adult. He hated using it though, considering he was in his early twenties *and* taller than this officer.

"Yeah... only a broken leg and some burns though, thankfully all recoverable. Good friend of mine, he was a businessman and we went to school together. However, his coworker wasn't so lucky... the guy was also in line to be my friends boss. Funny world, huh..." The officer huffed, shuffling a foot.

"Sorry to hear that. What kind of business is your friend in? My friend was a business kind of guy too." Jet put his hands in his pockets, gazing at the rubble with solemn eyes.

"Worked for Abstergo, actually! One of those IT guys, but his friend was only here on business for the Abstergo Global opening. He worked for the big guys in New York, too. Shame..." The officer sighed.

"Abstergo? Wow, that's a good job to get. My friend was actually going to be there applying. Damn..." Jet exhaled. The breeze sent a gust over the two as a fresh wave of ash hit their noses.

"Well, take care of yourself, bud. I'm sure we'll find the culprit by the end of the day, don't you worry." The officer tipped his hat before moving back to a group of other officers who looked deep in conversation.

The young man turned on his heel, knowing where to head next for some more clues. Abstergo holing up several of their employees in one of the hotels that burnt down? It was beginning to look like less and less of a mere coincidence in Jet's mind.

"We are here in Philadelphia, live again on the scene of the bombings, where we are told the specialists have found solid evidence of who the perpetrator might be. Here is Anderson Michaels, the lead specialist, with the report."

Jet turned again, stepping closer so he could hear the announcement. The reporter from before handed the mic to a tall man in his forties who was wearing what looked like a cross between a SWAT uniform and a hazmat suit.

"Hello, I'm here on behalf of the Philadelphia and Pennsylvania State police to announce who we think is the terrorist behind these bombings." He began, obviously rehearsed as he didn't seem very camera-friendly. The reporter shifted the mic back to her.

"And what gives you this conclusion, before you tell us the name?"

"Well, we've had this guy in our records for awhile, but we believe he's the culprit for what you see here today for a few reasons. We have reason to believe he has a deeply personal drive against Abstergo Industries, due to receiving reports about him stalking certain Abstergo workers within the past year. Many Abstergo representatives have gone missing where he's been reported, which was mainly around the New York location. However, he hasn't been seen in New York for some time, which leads us to believe he might have taken his insanity here where there was an Abstergo expo. The biggest lead, however, is the fact we've gotten four different reports of seeing him here in Philadelphia before the bombs went off. Some of the reports claimed he was loitering around these apartments for quite some time, but we're still piecing together what rough security footage we have."

"Can you release the name of this man?"

"Yes, Jet Akulov, the first name of which we think is a type of gang name or simply an alias of sorts. The reports say he has short dark hair, but the biggest defining feature is the fact he has two different-colored eyes, one is a light blue, and the other a sort of greenish-blue. We have no other information other than that, but we think with the scarcity of people with heterochromic eyes and the huge impact this bombing has caused, he'll be found very soon, perhaps even today." The specialist concluded.

Jet's heart felt like ice in his chest as his stomach lurched.

They were looking for _him?_ No, he didn't do anything! He had just gotten here...

"Hey! I was just talking to a kid like that! There!" The officer Jet was talking to before pointed down the street at Jet, eyes blazing with betrayal.

However, Jet was always a step ahead, and had already bolted down the corner before anyone could see. Cursing under his breath, he pushed past the lunchtime commuters and journalists as he tried to get as far away from the apartments as possible.

" _They're after you!_ " A malicious, metallic voice cut through Jet's thoughts.

Jet was used to this voice, and pushed it away accordingly. It did nothing but heighten his nerves over these events. This was definitely something between the Assassins and Templars, no doubt. Why else would his name be falsely plastered across the news?

Jet's phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, but he ignored it, keeping his pace as he dashed nimbly through the streets of Philadelphia. He had to find somewhere he could lay low... or perhaps he should leave as soon as possible? Police would be swarming in every corner of this city looking for him... Any method of travel would be dangerous, and Jet had made the mistake of coming here by train. If only he'd had his Harley with him... But the train was much faster, after all. Not like he was expecting this.

He swung around a corner into a large alleyway, peeking back behind him to see if the coast was clear, which it was, for now. Jet caught his breath for a few seconds before reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone. Luckily, nobody seemed to be around this street, so he thought he could grab a minute or two to rest and think about his next plan of action. He read the text that popped up moments ago.

It was from Adam, one of the Mentors, and quite an annoying one at that. " _What the fuck? Are these twats drunk or did you actually do something?_ " Jet could practically hear Adam's peeved British accent through the text. Jet could picture him in his room in the Manhattan den, with about five or six different monitors up at once going over live coverage. He was a tech wizard, to say the very least. The Assassins had a lot of computer whizzes, but Adam was one of the best. Jet hoped that if things went sour he could try to see if Adam had a plan out, but Jet was a stubborn man and wanted to try his own way first.

Jet texted back quickly, " _I didn't do shit; tryna leave ASAP. Don't send help."_

The sound of approaching footsteps made Jet's head snap from his phone and to who was heading down this shady alley. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, hair on the back of his neck standing up as his muscles tensed beneath his hoodie.

His stomach lurched when he recognized the individual: a man a little younger than double his age with short dirty blonde hair and a unique pair of calculating eyes. This man was a Templar, working for Abstergo; _Jon Connington_ , he thought. Jet's memory never lied. The Templar pin on his lapel was the last straw for Jet as he lunged forward just as Jon must've recognized him too.

As Jet lunged, pushing his right forearm into Jon's neck to shove him against the wall, Jet's other hand flicked to his pocket. A flash of gold shimmered from Jet's pocket before a golden dagger was held to Jon's neck, who was now pinned against the wall. However, Jet shouldn't have underestimated a Master Templar, even an unarmed one. In a single move, Jon managed to plant a fierce kick into Jet's abdomen, knocking the wind out of his lungs for a brief moment. He doubled back as Jon kicked him in the jaw as he bent over in pain. Jet stumbled into the opposite wall, before using the faint momentum to kick off of it and charge at Jon, except this time, the golden dagger in his left hand shifted, a small orb of gold shimmering on both fists as golden bagh nakh, tiger claw weapons, appeared on Jet's fists a second later.

Jon anticipated Jet's lunge, diving to the side, but Jet was just as fast, and shifted his weight to leap at Jon in a swift turn. The impact between Jet's charge and Jon's maneuver to get out of the way caused the two to dramatically roll like a pair of fighting lions, with Jet trying to slash at Jon, and Jon trying to kick Jet off of him.

"HEY! Hey, what the fuck?!" Jet heard a shrill female voice off in the distance, at least, he thought it was in the distance. His mind was all on the offensive, every fiber of his body poised to kill. Other distractions could wait.

Just as Jet pinned Jon to the ground and raised a claw to slash downward into Jon's neck, a pair of thin arms grabbed his raised wrist, pulling him back. Jet lashed out at the person behind him with his other elbow, getting them off of him as he heard a pained cough, the grip now released from his arm. However, this gave Jon an opening, and he took it, punching Jet directly in the solar plexus, making the young man immediately double over and fall to his side, gasping and writhing for air.

However, Jet could not be easily beaten. As Jon hustled to his feet, eyes blazing, Jet was right there with him, scrambling to get to his own feet even as he struggled to breathe. He was slightly hunched over now, trying to take a normal breath of air as he always kept his striking eyes on the Templar. Jon's eyes looked like they were out for blood, and Jet's weren't much better.

"STOP! Stop this right now!" The same shrill female voice from before hit Jet's ears as a skinny brown-haired girl stepped between them, her tan arms out to separate them.

"Why did you plaster my fucking face all over the news?!" Jet snarled at Jon, knuckles turning white. The bagh nakh in his hands shimmered and groaned faintly as Jet clutched them tighter. He took a step forward, making the girl's hand press into his chest to keep him back.

Before Jon could reply, the brown-haired girl's face snapped to Jet's, her bright eyes wide with an emotion Jet had not seen in a long time by a stranger. It was blank, yet subtly murderous. He was confused for a moment, her stare perplexing him.

 _Who is she...?_

Before he could figure it out, the girl charged at Jet, sending him to the ground before either side could intervene.


	5. ACT 1: Chapter 4 - RENLEY

**RENLEY**

 _This bastard... He destroyed my home and made my family homeless,_ Renley screamed in her mind as she took the dark-haired guy to the ground, her hands and nails instinctively gripping tightly around his scarred neck. It was only a few seconds before Renley felt a leg around her lower back, and suddenly her weight was thrown to her left. Before she knew it, this guy had pinned her to the ground, his strange golden claw weapons at her neck.

"Jet! You little shit, " Jon was quick, however, and grabbed the young man by his hair and flung him off of Renley, looking like he was going to punch him again. The girl was about to gladly let Jon rip this fucker to pieces for destroying her home, but Jet's pained wince and the way he looked up at Jon made her immediately reconsider. He looked like a victim. A victim of something he didn't do, and Renley knew that look well.

"Before you hit me again, Templar, at least know that it wasn't me who set off those bombs!" Jet growled from his position on the ground, his hands still wielding those claws. His hair was a curled, gnarled mess. He looked up at Jon with a stubborn, steely expression. What was that word Jet had called Jon? A Templar? Jon raised an eyebrow at Jet's notion.

"Oh yeah? Then who did?" Jon demanded, his tone rough. Jon said this in a way that made Renley think that Jon was already piecing at names in his mind... almost like he knew Jet or someone similar to him.

"That's why I came here! I thought this would be your type of activity gone wrong, or perhaps a mercenary who went a little too crazy," Jet defended his stance in a slightly calmer tone, but it still retained a certain edge. Jon scoffed, and the young man slowly stood and straightened up, rolling his shoulders back.

"Why would I, or anyone from my company, blow up a building during one of _our_ expos? Especially at an apartment complex that was housing our own businessmen? Are you truly that stupid to think I would know anything about that? You people all think like children sometimes." Jon spat, his anger escalating. He sounded like an angry father whose son had been out all night.

"I know what _you people_ are capable of," Jet kept his hardened expression fixated on Jon. The tension between them was beginning to make the air almost crackle, and Renley feared these two would get into another, bloodier fight. _You people?_ Renley thought. What were they talking about? Why did this confrontation seem so... staged?

" _Reeeeeenleeeey!_ " A young boy's voice echoed from the entrance of the alleyway, and Renley turned in surprise to see her eight-year-old brother, Jack, calling for her. Jet and Jon's heads snapped up in the direction of Jack's voice.

Her siblings were supposed to be inside the hotel apartment! How did Jack get all the way down here?

"Jack! You're supposed to be-" Renley started.

"It's the news! They captured the guy!" Jack shouted, before running off down the street. Her brother was always making a big deal out of everything, but this time, Renley knew it was rightly justified.

Jon and Jet exchanged an astonished glance before Jet pulled his hood over his head.

"Wait... but you're..." Renley began. Jet was the suspect, he was right in front of her! How could they have caught someone that looked like him? Renley didn't know a single person with similar features.

Jet started to make his way towards where the little boy was going, but Jon went to grab his shoulder to keep him back. The dark-haired man caught Jon's wrist swiftly before he could place it, giving him a cold stare.

"I deserve to see this news too, don't you think? I will leave as soon as I have seen the report." Jet said flatly, letting go of Jon's wrist and walking forward.

Renley saw Jon's hands curl into fists briefly before she ran after Jet, hearing Jon's footsteps behind her.

Jet realized she was approaching, and turned as he walked. "Who are you exactly?"

"Like you need to know," Renley narrowed her eyes. Ass.

"Oh come on, it's easy. I'm Jet, and you are...?" He rolled his eyes, offering her the chance to reply back.

"Renley." She muttered, refusing to look at him. Renley still didn't trust him.

Ahead of them, the dark-haired eight-year-old was pointing inside an electronics store with televisions on sale, all displaying the same news report.

"Look! They got him!" Jack pointed excitedly at the screen.

Renley was the first to sprint over, followed by Jet and then Jon. The news report was going on about the capture of the suspect, a blonde female reporter for one of the biggest news stations live at the scene. Pain gripped Renley's heart again as she saw the devastation of her old home in the background. While she knew her home life wasn't the best, it was still all she had, and it had been taken from her. It cost her mother's life, and almost her siblings' lives as well. That kind of bitterness is hard to fade.

"Akulov was reprimanded in North Philadelphia just over eleven minutes ago, after the young man was trying to hide in one of the apartments there. A few local residents had tipped off the police of his presence, and soon, they had found the correct suspect. Here is the first acquired picture of the culprit." The reporter explained, before an image popped up on the screen.

The picture showed a man in his mid-twenties, with disheveled dark hair and heterochromic eyes, just like Jet's eyes. Except... it wasn't Jet. The man on the screen looked like his pale blue eye was fake, similar to a glass eye of sorts. The real Jet also had a deep scar on both his right-side cheek down to his jaw and another on his neck, where this doppelganger had a simple lip scar and yellowed teeth.

"That's... that's not me..." Jet breathed with incredulity, exhaling with both confusion and relief.

Jack looked back at Jet in surprise, doing several double-takes between him and the man on the screen.

"Wow! He's like your twin or something!" Jack pointed between the screen and Jet with a big goofy grin, like he'd solved a big mystery.

"Something like that, I guess..." Jet looked at Jon, raising an eyebrow. Their aggravated looks before were replaced by ones of pure bewilderment. Neither of them looked like they knew what was going on, but yet Renley felt like they still knew more than the general public, or at least her. This was beginning to form a pit of confusion within her, and the leftover anger of her old home's destruction only fueled the fire.

"What is it with you two? Do you know each other?" She asked, a faint edge of paranoia in her voice.

"No." Jet said simply. Jon shook his head as well.

"You sure act like it... Like you're old enemies or something. And you said his name while you fought," Renley crossed her arms, looking at Jon.

"Well, you'd have a slight little grudge too if some street punk attacked you in an alleyway," Jon growled, making a stab at Jet.

Jet looked like he was about to explode, hands curling into fists again. "At least I'm not the one-"

"Shut up! My god..." Renley shouted exasperatedly, narrowly avoiding cursing loudly in front of Jack. The two stopped and refused to look at each other. Renley turned back to Jack.

"Are your brother and sister alright?" She asked the boy. Maybe a bad idea, considering Jack's ever-unwavering enthusiasm.

"Leila and Theo are back at the room, but they were sleeping, and the news was on, so I said, 'Hey! I need to tell Renley about the guy!' So I remembered Jon said you guys were gonna go find something to eat and I thought that wouldn't be hard to find you because there's a lot of food places on this street and I went down the elevator all by myself and out to the street and saw the TV's and the news and then I heard you yell and BAM! I found you!" Jack rambled quickly, taking sharp breaths every now and then through his speech. Her little brother was always known to talk way too much.

"Uh... good... good job..." Renley wasn't sure what to say. Should she be mad he just left the hotel room, or happy he found them in time before Jon and Jet got into a fight? Oh well, _just focus on the present,_ she reminded herself.

"Jesus, that kid got a mute button?" Renley heard Jet grumble under his breath, and she shot him a cold look, shutting him right up. He had a shit-eating smirk on his face, though.

Jet scooted past Jon, taking a few steps back.

"Well, I have a lot to process now. I'll be leaving, folks." He did a quick two-finger salute off of his forehead to signal his departure as he turned to leave.

"Hey! You're not going anywhere!" Jon commanded in that "dad voice" again, pointing a finger at Jet, who promptly sneered.

"Who's gonna make me? You're not armed, and I..." The tiger claws in Jet's hands shifted before their eyes as he twirled two golden semiautomatic pistols in his hands. "Well, I am." He smirked.

Jon said nothing. He seemed unfazed by Jet's weapon suddenly shapeshifting like that, while Renley's jaw dropped. What in the _hell_ was that?

"WHOA! How did you do that?" Jack gaped, jumping a few times in excitement.

"Magic, kid. See ya around." Jet grinned widely, putting the guns in his belt and shifting his hoodie over them. As he turned, he took off into a sprint.

"Hey! Just who are you exactly? WAIT!" Renley shouted after him.

However, Jet was off, and Renley wondered if he hadn't heard her or was ignoring her. From what she could tell of the cheeky bastard, probably the latter. But still... That item reminded her of her own necklace. They both worked in such strange ways... The necklace had never protected her like that before, back at the apartment building. Something was either very wrong, or very right, she could feel it.

Before he blended into a cluster of people, Renley saw Jet throw up a middle finger, probably directed at Jon, who sighed angrily.

"Let's get you guys settled," Jon tried to pry her away gently, but Renley kept craning her neck to try and keep an eye on the stranger who just left. Seconds later, Jet disappeared.


	6. ACT 1: Chapter 5 - VERONICA

**VERONICA**

 _Sigh._ She exhaled softly, her breath only slightly warmer than the air around her. _This will be worth it, at least. If he's not completely incompetent. Whatever._ She thought to herself.

Veronica was her name. Just Veronica. The use of a last name wasn't something she wanted to burden herself within her "specialized" line of work. She used to have one, a long time ago, but it only served its purpose for paperwork. At least that's what she kept telling herself. The wind kicked up a breeze from the clouds above, whipping her brown hair around her. God, sometimes long hair was such a goddamn hassle.

The city she looked over was bustling as the distant sun began to set, turning the sky into a brilliant array of purples, blues, and reds. If it wasn't a city, stars might be peeking out from between the clouds that reflected the skyscrapers' dim light. Standing on the ledge of one of the taller buildings, then sitting boredly, she checked her phone again to see what was going on. Maybe the ol' big guy decided to text. Nope.

"Ugh. This is the worst. I _hate_ waiting." She growled to herself, watching some of the people walk around below. Some inkling within her consciousness felt a tinge of pity for them, but it was only because she knew how little they would matter in the grand scheme of things. A shame they had to remain ignorant, but it was for the best.

 _Is it really?_ something thought in her. Veronica found her subconscious quite annoying. It's always been that way.

Veronica thought about taking out her rifle to clean the metal components, but she decided it would probably not be a good sign if someone curious looked up and saw someone on the roof of a building cleaning a gun. Her rifle was her favorite belonging, and shooting her most deadly skill. It was why she was picked for this, after all. Well, sort of. That'll come more into play later than it would now.

As the sun's last rays slipped over the cityscape, Veronica was ready to slip into a frenzy from being so goddamn bored.

Just as the thought ticked in her brain, the roof door behind her creaked open, and she whipped around, within a second pointing a Beretta pistol at the figure that took form from the shadows of the stairwell. The man alarmingly threw his hands up in the air. He looked young, around her own age, but skittish.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, it's me. You're Veronica, right? I'm with Zach." The man gulped, and to Veronica's slight satisfaction, he shook in fear of her. She hoped Zach had told them stories about her. She _loved_ scaring people she had never met.

She lowered her Beretta, her gray gaze piercing into him in the dim light. "You've kept me waiting a long fucking time. I hope it was because you were triple-checking everything." She stalked closer.

"Y-yeah, of course. Everything went off without a hitch. Sven is in position and ready for your call." He said, bowing slightly.

"I find it extremely amusing. This whole plan, I mean. Sven looks just like him, though. I hate that." Veronica sighed.

"He _has_ to look like him, remember?"

And then, a hand was at the man's neck.

"Trying to be smart with me? You know what happens to recruits out of line?" Veronica snarled through her teeth, but let the shaking man go. "Nevermind. Of course you do. I only said that _because_ he looks like that piece of shit. God knows I'm only in this for two things: the pay, and the chance to see true justice rise to the Assassins and my shitty ex to slowly crumble into pieces." She smirked at the thought.

Veronica hated her ex. Her mind was such a bustle for her to locate exact, vivid memories of him, but every fiber of her existence snarled at the mere thought of him. Perhaps that was why she was so blind in her rage against him; she needed answers to some degree.

"I-I already let Zach know. He said it's your call now." The man regained his composure, rubbing his now-red neck.

Veronica turned back to the city, walking over to the ledge again. The wind blew up at her, dim orange light from the street below illuminating her slightly. She took out her phone, dialing the safe number Zach had instructed.

No hello greeted her, just a tone and then a tiny click. If the wind wasn't so prominent at this elevation, one could hear breathing on the other side.

"Now." She said simply, before hanging up and quietly putting the phone back into her jean pocket.

The man stood there awkwardly, watching her. Veronica walked back over to him, slinging the large bag that held her rifle over her shoulder and opening the door to descend. She stopped right before going through the door, looking at the recruit.

"Do you pity those we will harm?" She asked, breaking that toxic silence between them. He looked at her, large blue eyes glinting in a slight break of surprise, breaking his forced composure.

"No. It's for the good of the world. As Zach always said." He said flatly, remembering his training. So "by-the-books", this one.

"Not even the innocent civilians?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I mean... maybe... B-but if this is the best route, like Zach says it is, I have no qualms." He said, nodding at her.

"No. You won't have any qualms."

A metal circle appeared between his eyes.

"Wha-what are you-"

Trigger pulled. A body smacked dully onto the concrete.

"'Destroy to rebuild'. I thought that's what Zach taught you," Veronica stared at the body, the man's eyes bulging wide in his last emotion: fear. "Useless." She snarled, putting her Beretta in its holster on her belt. _Shouldn't be anyone to find this body for awhile_ , she thought. Gloves were helpful, too. She picked up the bullet casing from the ground and pocketed it.

Violence wasn't the means to their end, Zach told Veronica before. But it was a means to restore the world to its intended state. Veronica thought he was a fucking lunatic. _And you're not?_

Sometimes, the more insane you sound, the more you make sense, at least to a point. It's ambition and passion that create a leader. Power is nothing more than an illusion that all humans follow, or create. Following a leader is easier than being one.

But she was not a follower.

Veronica took one last look behind her at the city, before the dark blue skyline erupted into flames.

* * *

 _ **Two Days Later**_

 _Phase two_ , Veronica sighed. She was beginning to get sick of sitting on rooftops, especially when there was a helicopter floating by seemingly every minute. It wasn't that hard, though. Zach had sent a few helpers this time, all taking the roles of "cameramen" on the rooftop while Veronica spent most of the time in standard reporter garb, hating the feel of the fabric quietly, while staring at the scene below with binoculars.

"Damn," she breathed, a smirk piercing her cheek. "Only a matter of time before some real fun begins. Their entire force is jammed with missions except for him, so if it's not him showing up, I will eat my own damn boot." Veronica growled to no-one in particular.

The building was decimated, only the skeleton of framework still standing in a blackened ruin amongst the gray debris below. An entire section of the city was blocked off at a standstill by both the police and government forces as they controlled the crowds and combed the rubble. They had already found the "culprit", Veronica heard.

Jet Akulov.

The indentation of his name in her mind must have struck some chord in the universe, because as soon as her blood reached a boil over the thought of him, the bastard appeared in her sights. He had his hood up, but Veronica was very sure it was him. She knew how he walked, how he hung his head just so slightly when he did so, and how he carefully peeked around every street corner. He was heading towards the site, and soon her view would be limited, especially when the fun began.

"Got him," Veronica announced. "Let Zach know. Keep an eye on him, I need to get to a different angle. Text me when it begins." She said, shoving the binoculars into the man next to her before slinging her bag over her shoulder and jogging to the roof door and down without another word.

 _...to see him again..._ Veronica's brain flickered. She gritted her teeth as she bolted into the elevator and punched the button to the first floor. _...Don't you miss him..._

"Nope." She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling the same. The trickling thoughts slowly ebbed away until her mind was once again solely focused on the mission. Those thoughts could be such an annoyance, and could cost her job if she wasn't careful. Luckily managed easily, though.

The ride designated for her was waiting, and upon seeing its boring exterior and interior again, she wished she had her own ride with her, a Ford GT, but that car was nothing more than scrap metal thanks to her ex. It was all his damn fault. She groaned and made herself get in, before testing the street laws of Philadelphia in order to get to her destination.

* * *

" _I love you," He said, his voice shaking with the weight of what he meant. He seemed nervous, like he was frightened at the thought of shattering me with only his words._

" _I love you too." I replied, tugging him closer. I knew what he meant to me, but part of me felt so foolish. I fell for him too hard. Now I cannot bring myself to stand on my own feet. I now bear the feet of a future consequence, but a consequence I had accepted in that moment._

* * *

Veronica slammed on the brakes just as she was about to crash into a moving line of traffic. Those voices. A clammy hand met her scalp as she pushed her hair back, regaining her composure. That never happened before. The potency of her thoughts. Just thoughts, she said. It happens to everyone.

"I hate you, Jet, and I will destroy you and everything you love." She seethed, white knuckles threatening to crush the steering wheel.

 _You're such a child, Veronica._

"The child in me died with the smoke of the bullet that ended my life in his. Shut the fuck up." She told herself angrily.

The voice ceased as she watched the unfolding scheme before her. Up the building, to the roof again... looking over to see the two pawns collide. No, three now.

Jet, a Templar, and an incompetent child in way over her head. Except, the report she received was true... she had a necklace peeking from her shirt, and even from this distance a small flicker of glare hit Veronica's eyes from the item on the chain. Excitement and jealousy bubbled inside her as she thought about that necklace... It was a shame this girl had to be manipulated into this war. Perhaps it'd go smoothly... Oh, but it wouldn't. If it was that simple, this would have been over weeks ago. Another small boy came into play shortly after, and Veronica narrowed her eyes.

 _Oh, a family too? Girl, you better make this easy... Because family never does._


	7. ACT 1: Chapter 6 - ZACH

**ZACH**

It was a quaint and cloudless day in Bensalem, Pennsylvania, the beautiful weather making the sturdy tudor-style home seem timeless in the crisp air. While the tudor could hold well over six people in its spaces, there were a bit more than six people staying in this home currently.

In the upstairs office room, Zach leaned back on his office chair, feet up on his desk in a casual manner while his eyes intently watched the television program on the side table. In his hands, Zach held a gleaming silver sword with a golden hilt, twirling it in his hands absently. It was a long sword, a relatively normal and double-edged model, its steel marked with nicks and marks that showed it had seen many fights since its creation, but never a single repair. Never needed it. He stopped every now and then to pick one of his nails with the end of it, as if he didn't exactly care much about it.

"Akulov is under custody, and US government officials will be questioning him long into the night, where they hope they can figure out his reasoning for this horrendous crime that has shaken both this city, and even the world." The reporter announced, straight from the scene of the crime.

Zach shut the television off as soon as the reporter was finished, the room falling to a type of interior silence that only a library could challenge. Tiny golden dust motes floated into the light, pouring around the back of Zach's head and onto the table in front of him.

He turned to the other ten people in the room that he seemed to completely ignore before. They looked at him expectantly, waiting for an order silently.

"Well, well... that's a wrap, folks." Zach grinned, his smile spreading across the faces of his captains like a twisted virus.

Ten captains, in charge of one hundred soldiers each. Well-trained to the point of being able to take down even the higher ranks of Assassins or Templars, or at least Zach thought so. Most of them came from either organization, anyway. So many defectors, so little time...

The man shifted his weight in the chair, putting his feet down and placing his elbows on the desk to lean forward, his stature meaning business now as opposed to recreation.

"Everyone is to lay low. The government may not be looking for us, but the Assassins and Templars have already been attracted to the area, and they're going to be quite confused when they figure out neither of them did it. Kingston!" Zach ordered a name.

A man of a darker complexion stepped forward, making a slight bow. He had a thick scar over his nose , and his eyes seemed to spark with excitement over what Zach had in store. Zach knew all about Kingston, of course, Kingston not being his real name. Fought in the US military for seven years, then worked as a hired mercenary after being honorably discharged, mostly sticking to services within Africa and the Middle East where tensions commonly ran high. When Zach had talked with him, Kingston immediately joined his cause. He was all too familiar with the atrocities of both the Assassins and Templars in the affairs of the countries he fought in. Zach wasn't sure whether it was his words or the sword that helped his claim to sway Kingston, but nevertheless, he had a valuable asset and eyes within the countries Kingston had performed well in.

"Yes, sir?" Kingston awaited an order.

"Your team is currently in Dubai, correct?" Zach asked, placing his sword on the table.

"Yes."

"Assemble the twenty best men you have. I want them to gather at the rendezvous in California as soon as possible, but like I said, lay low. Spread the eyes around some of the cities, get a feel for the presences there. The rest of you will order your troops to take simple contracts under the radar so we can have a fair monetary flow for the next few weeks while we prepare." Zach clarified.

"Sir, if I may ask, what's the current long-term goal now that these events are in place? Has it changed at all from the original plans since we've had fallbacks?" A captain asked. A newer captain, Zach remembered this one.

Zach scoffed. He hated repeating himself, but he sighed and obliged the captain. "We still need to lure out my brother, for one, because he holds the key to the one thing that will end this war: an Apple of Eden. However, there are two keys that I need, but I already know who possesses the other. If things fall into place as I believe they will, I'll have both keys and an Apple. The power of the Apple combined with my Sword here... The war will be over within a week." Zach brushed his fingers lightly over the silver blade.

Of course, this was not a typical sword. This sword was wielded by numerous great leaders many, many eons ago, and was a true Sword of Eden that in Zach's mind gave him the right to rule and carry out his conquest. People always seemed to listen better with that sword around, which was a typical effect of the Sword's powers.

"The end goal isn't going to be to eradicate both sides, correct? It was never made clear to me, I'm sorry sir." The captain spoke up again.

"No. I'm afraid that outcome is impossible, except if I have that Apple combined with the two other keys. One to get me the Apple, and another to let me keep it. Of course, I won't be the only one in power. All of you will have a say and a vote, but given my bloodline, I'm one of the few that's able to wield those artifacts."

* * *

" _You can't, I'm sorry." Thomas slowly took the needle out of my arm, discarding the tip into the trash. I rubbed my sore forearm and furrowed my eyebrows at the man sitting next to me. Another failed attempt._

" _What do you mean? Anyone can go into the Animus. I'm from a pure line, dating back thousands of years-"_

 _Thomas snapped his head back up at me. "It won't work, how many times must I say it to you? Some blood doesn't work within the Animus, that's just how it is. You need to stop whining and start accepting things the way they are," Thomas huffed and cleaned up, rolling his eyes as he worked. "What would the Mentor say, psh..."_

" _Mentor? What does he matter? You practically act like you're Mentor anyway! Strutting around, ordering Master ranks like me around. We're the same rank, or did you forget when you went rogue for how many years?" I snarled at him, climbing off the Animus. "I was the one who found that Piece of Eden in the desert, no thanks to you... Mentor would have let me keep it if it weren't for you convincing him otherwise."_

" _It was for the greater good. That sword is not meant to be in any of our hands, but much less the Templars'." Thomas grunted, not bothering to look up at me._

" _It's not even part of our ideals... Where does it say we can't hold onto things we discover?"_

" _Nowhere, it's just sense! God, you're twenty-one but you act a twelve-year-old... How you keep thinking this dream of Mentorship is beyond me."_

" _I'll get Mentor rank, Thomas. Mark my words, I can be a leader. You might not believe in me, but the Mentor does." I felt my fists clench. He was always like this._

 _Thomas laughed with a wry grin, "You sound so stereotypical... This isn't a movie where if you try hard enough you win and everything fixes itself. You don't know a goddamn thing... Good luck, then. That's all I can say. You also forget the Mentor comes to me for counsel, not you."_

" _Counsel means nothing. I'm the one out there bringing the fight to those who wrong us! That means more than talking. Actions speak louder-"_

" _Than words, yes yes, you're quite fond of saying that," Thomas got up and stood a few inches over me, glaring as he rose his voice. "War creates war, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, so stop living in your fantasy world and grow the hell up. You forget you only got to Master rank because of me, so stop thinking that any of this is somehow my fault. Blind hate will only lead you on a path to destruction. Don't let blood ruin you."_

 _I kept my feet planted. His intimidating wouldn't get to me. I felt my mouth curl into a grin. "Don't let blood ruin us, brother. Blood before blood."_

 _Thomas sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. I couldn't tell whether he was feeling pity or had given up with me. I didn't care anymore._

" _Yes. Blood before blood."_

* * *

Zach sighed.

"I want a world where there is no war. No sides, no choosing, no pointless back-and-forth skirmishes. This war between ideals has gone on long enough, and those who have tried to combine ideals or destroy both sides in the past have failed miserably. The only way we can achieve this goal, sadly, is through violence as things stand now. If there was another way to join together, I would do it in a heartbeat. In this world, however, in order to begin a new and better world, we must destroy its foundations and build it up again." Zach explained, turning his chair around to look at the sunny courtyard area outside of the tudor home.

"I mean no disrespect, but then why did those innocents have to get hurt in Philadelphia?" He heard another captain ask. Zach was quick to reply.

"As I have said, it is a sad affair that we must use violence to achieve our goals, and yes, civilians will get in the way and get hurt. This act we have accomplished needed to be executed in the exact way it did, because we needed both sides to be attracted to the area, and the eyes I have in Philly had reported one of the keys had come into play. If both sides are distracted here on the East, then we can move our next operation elsewhere. I do not wish to kill innocent people at all, that is against what I stand for. But... that is a rule for the new world, not this one. This world is tainted by this war, and we must do _everything_ to end it, or it'll be the destruction of the world entirely. Is that clear?" Zach turned his chair again, staring at each captain with an edge of challenge in his eyes.

"Yes, sir!" They saluted in unison.

"Excellent. You know what you have to do. Dismissed."

The captains filed out of the room quickly, leaving the leader alone at his desk with his sword. A world without sides, a world where everyone knew their place and was happy in it... that was what he wanted. No corruption, no war, no sadness. A far-fetched idea for anyone born onto either side, but a very real outcome if given the right tools. And for Zach, his tools were hurtling towards him at the exact pace he wanted them to, whether they knew it or not. That's what he had forgotten all those years. Tools.

The door broke the silence a few moments later.

Veronica sauntered in late, her hands tucked into the pockets of a light zip up hoodie. "What'd I miss?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.

Zach rolled his eyes, spinning around in the chair and giving her a deep glare. _Typical Veronica_ , he thought to himself. She was damn lucky she was one of the most brilliant snipers he'd seen in his years of combat, and also had a rare trait of not being convinced by the Sword's powers. It was annoying, to say the least.

"Seriously?" He started. "I don't give you a salary to fuck around and miss meetings. Give me the report." Zach gestured with hands open, awaiting a response.

"Give me a report... what?" She asked, not fazed in the slightest.

Zach stood up, not breaking his sight to her. "Report to me what you found in Philadelphia after you set off the charges. Or are you too busy dealing with Emily in that busy mind of yours?" He growled through gritted teeth, bringing his voice up to a higher malicious tone towards the end. Throwing Emily into the picture was quite the jab; Veronica's old mind had plagued her recently, but with her new look came a new personality. One that wouldn't fall to the same fate.

Veronica sighed. "I guess you're not in the mood to ask nicely. Anyway, Jet met with the Templar and the Kipling girl. As expected, Jet and the Templar almost killed each other, but they were stopped by the brat. Nothing really interesting to report about," she stopped briefly before she remembered a certain detail. "Oh! She had some weird necklace. Didn't really pay much attention to it until I noticed that it kinda… shines when there's no light hitting it."

"So she _does_ have it, huh? Hmm... That's perfect." Zach seemed to muse, sitting back down while setting the sword on the table. He looked off in thought. "And Jet still has Shapeshifter? I couldn't think he'd be capable of ridding himself of the thing. Just curious though."

This time, it was Veronica's turn to roll her eyes. "He's _alive_. Of course he still has Shapeshifter. Was that really a question?"

"Months ago, a report from one of our eyes told me he and a Mentor named Arctic had briefly severed the bond between him and Shapeshifter using another Piece of Eden, leaving him a vegetable for a time, until he and Shapeshifter eventually recovered and bonded again. It could have been possible that its effects changed, but they hadn't. Good research for the future."

"You and your 'research'..." Veronica huffed boredly. Zach's eyes flickered slightly at her.

"You don't see me as your superior, do you?"

"To be fair, I didn't treat the Assassin 'Mentors' much better," She replied with a shrug, using air quotes around the mention of Mentors.

"No, no, I don't want you to see me as your superior. You are your own person, after all. As everyone should be. However... when the question of loyalty comes into play, I must know that you'll stick to one side." His gaze flickered to her a bit accusingly.

"You don't have to worry about me, Zach. I have too much fun blowing things up for you," she said with a smirk, "Plus, you're giving me the opening of a lifetime to make Jet's life a living hell. Can't put a price on that."

Zach chuckled, "True. I wish things could have unfolded differently, I really do... but the Assassins and Templars have destroyed too much for anything to be repaired. You let me worry about Jet. You'll have your fun too, don't worry," He sat back, arms behind his head, thinking deeply about the next move. "Meet with the others in California. I think they could use your expertise there. I'll join shortly when I finish up matters on this coast and organize a few other captains and their soldiers. I think Thomas is at the LA den, too. I knew that'd interest you, at least." Zach said after a few moments.

"So… nobody important or troubling, then?" Veronica asks rhetorically with a grin.

"At least _try_ to take things seriously while you're there, would you? Anything else you need?" Zach sat back on his chair, stretching.

Veronica shook her head. "Nope," she said as she made her way towards the door. She paused as she opened it, turning back to Zach. "It's just me in here, by the way," she said, pointing to her head. And with that, she walked out.

Zach knew a lie when he saw one.


	8. ACT 1: Chapter 7 - JON

**JON**

Jon had hardly slept at all since the bombing of those buildings. After awhile, the scene was swarmed with FBI and other federal forces. He and his wife had relocated to the Hyatt Hotel near the Philadelphia Airport until he got word from his superiors of what to do next. _Stay safe, we will contact you,_ had been their message. He and Alana were sharing a room with Joshua North while Renley and her siblings shared a neighboring room. Natalya had been found alive nearby and was in the hospital recovering from wounds sustained in the blast. Neither Alana nor Joshua knew who or what Renley was connected to. Even Jon was still a little confused at everything that was going on. All he knew was that the Assassin called Jet was not a legend, but something he had to worry about. A corruptor. A threat. An Assassin.

Two days after the detonation and he still had not received any word from Templar command besides the short message before. He met Renley at the hotel's small café while Alana took the kids to the park. They weren't exactly excited about it; the smaller boy seemed to cry the entire time Alana was getting them out of the door, whining about his mother. Renley seemed to be distant from them, even now.

Grief demands answers... but to a child, the answer is so much more complicated.

"What the hell happened before?" The young woman hissed suddenly as a waitress put a cup of coffee in front of her. "That guy that confronted me... Jet I think his name was... who's he, and why do you seem to know him?" Jon did not know how to answer that. _She's not part of this_ , he thought. _I don't owe her anything, she can just leave all of this_. But something told Jon that she would not accept that.

"Jet is," Jon started, pausing to explain it to her. "… Part of a radical group, they're sort of like anarchists. They do not want any law or order and believe that man's natural existence is lawless. They'll do anything to get what they want, including harming your siblings and hurting you. They killed people in that blast because they believe that they are right," Renley was silently glaring over her untouched coffee. "That's why they probably blew up the hotel, you can't trust Jet's word. He was probably lying to cover his tracks... he's a devil at keeping a lie going." He continued. He had to suppress a smile at how easy the words (and hypocrisy) were coming to him. Renley slowly nodded.

"And they want me?" Renley asked finally. Jon bit his lip.

"We don't know what they want with you yet," Jon said. "But don't worry. I can keep you safe, I work with a lot of powerful people."

"What should we do next? Wherever I go, my family does too." Renley sipped her coffee. A server took their empty plates without bothering them. Jon shrugged in an answer to Renley.

"You're currently under 18. Unless you have any family to take you in, it's the foster system," Jon admitted. She shook her head quickly.

"No! They'll just split us up! We need to stay together," she said defiantly. There was no one for her save Jet. _But he's dangerous_. "I can find a way to keep my family safe. I promise I won't be a burden on you." She shifted in her chair, revealing a necklace. Hanging from the simple black rope was a little, pale gold sliver that caught Jon's eye.

"Interesting necklace," he noted. Now he understood why she might be a target.

"Oh this?" She absentmindedly toyed with the little stone. He knew First Civilization relics when he saw them and that was one beyond a reasonable doubt. _So she has Jet's blood and a Piece of Eden?_ Jon thought. _Interesting_. "It was a gift from my dad when I was little. He worked for the government... one day he went to work, next... nothing. This is all I can remember him with. God, that sounds so stupid saying it out loud... not like you could possibly help me." She let the conversation end there. Jon smiled a little.

"Actually, I think I can help you. You see my organization, Abstergo... well, we're very interested in genealogies amongst other things," Jon explained. He leaned in. "Have you ever heard of an Animus?" She should have. Personal gaming Animi were quite popular. She shrugged.

"I've heard of it but I don't really know what it is," she replied. "I'm not so tech savvy. Besides, we never had much money for stuff like that."

"Well, Abstergo invented the Animus. It's like a computer but it takes a bit of your DNA from your blood. You see, our DNA is made up building blocks passed down to you from generation to generation, stretching all the way back to the very first humans who pulled themselves from the caves. What the Animus does is allow us to see those ancestors," She nodded as Jon explained more, "Take me for instance. I had an ancestor alive during the American Civil War who was an industrialist in the North. The Animus would allow me to go back and see his life. We can go back and make video games, movies, television shows, even music out of the past."

"And let me guess... You want me to get into this Animus?" Renley asked. _Clever girl_. "And do you often ask seventeen year old girls to participate in experiments?" Jon shook his head with an amused smirk.

"We can make you legally an adult. You'd be able to stay with your family too," Jon said before she made any new accusations. She still didn't look convinced. "And we would put you up in a place to stay. You ever been to Manhattan? We can get you an apartment there, right next to a park for the kids." She tried to hide a small smile. _Homerun_.

"Okay. But I want a sit down with these people. Don't think I'm just going to lie down on some bed and let a bunch of creeps stick pins in me." Renley shot. Jon nodded.

"Of course," he said. "We can go over all the details. I can even get a lawyer for you if you'd like."

Renley still crossed her arms and zoned out, thinking it seemed. Jon knew this was probably hard on her, but she was strong. Probably dealing with the trauma on the inside... he made a mental note to have Abstergo get her and her siblings a therapist of sorts once they arrived. That thought skipped to the back of his head as he then thought about business, and the necklace Renley had. _No doubt her father was in the Brotherhood, I've never heard of a Kipling in our ranks... But the Assassins? I can remember a few... Why would he give a little girl such an ancient artifact? Perhaps the thought of her losing it as children do put his mind at ease away from the toils of war stealing it... But now he just put her in this world of danger. Maybe he wanted her to seek out the Assassins when she came of age. I must put a stop to that, at any cost._

Later, Jon called Laetitia and told her about Renley and her connection to Jet. He also explained the run-in they had after the explosion and Jet's interest in her. But he left out her necklace. He told himself he would keep it secret for his own maneuvers- they could use it to attract Jet or as a bargaining chip. Something deep inside him wouldn't do it though because she was troubled. The information Burbank had forwarded on her said that she had spent most of her life with her mother, a frequenter of the Philadelphia free clinics and known drug abuser. Her father had not appeared on any record, but her stepfather had. _It's the only thing she has of him_.

When his wife had returned from the park, Renley took her siblings and put them to bed while Jon and Alana caught up.

"She's 17, so the only thing she could really do is go into the foster program," Jon explained quickly. "But I promised to get her emancipated if she were to sign on for some Animi tests at Abstergo." Alana did not like that answer.

"I don't know Jon, that seems dangerous," she said warily. Jon shrugged.

"I know people who can get her emancipated much quicker. And we'll pay for an apartment where they can live in the city, and get a tutor for the kids," Jon replied. Alana bit her lip in thought.

"And I'll get a lawyer to make sure they get the best deal out of this," Jon finished. His wife finally nodded.

"Okay. As long as you don't put those kids in danger," she said. Jon kissed his wife on the cheek.

"Don't worry," he replied. "I won't."

They checked out the next day after a hearty breakfast, and they piled into Jon's BMW for the drive up to New York.

"You'll love Manhattan!" Alana said from the passenger seat up front. Jon nodded and noticed Renley was smiling for the first time since he met her. The kids were silent, still dealing with all the change happening around them.

Several hours later they arrived in New York. Joshua took Alana back to their apartment across the river while Jon showed Renley and her siblings to their temporary home. It was a standard Brooklyn apartment located in an old factory nestled in Bushwick. Four rooms were cut out of the wide-open floor as well as an expansive kitchen, two bathrooms and a living room with a large television.

"Well?" Jon asked. "What do you think?" There were enough rooms for each of Renley's siblings as well as herself. The kitchens were stocked with minimal essentials for Templar agents who needed a rest. A safehouse of sorts, for those on the job who didn't want the extravagancy of Abstergo's main building. He had put in a call to Laetitia that he would need the Bushwick safehouse clear of anyone for a few days. Renley looked a little confused, as if this meticulously cared-for apartment was something new to her.

"Its…great," she stammered. Her face quickly hardened to a serious one. "But what's the catch? What are you up to?" She held up her arms to mean the whole apartment.

"No catch," Jon shrugged. "Remember? You're going to help me with the Animus."

"What does that matter? You just _give_ me an apartment in Brooklyn and act like there's no catch! Like you don't want something from me!" She hissed. Her siblings were in the other rooms, one of them laughing, probably the older one cheering up the smaller ones. A horrified look spread across her face. "Oh, I see what's happening here!"

"What are you defensive about? Like I said, you're going to help me." Jon asked alarmed. _This can't all fall apart now_. She pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"You want me to have sex with you!" She exclaimed suddenly. Jon furiously shook his head.

"After all your wife has done for me and my family, you want me to fuck you because you give us an apartment! Well we don't need you and your company for help! What are you, like fucking forty, anyway? I'm seventeen, you fucking creep!" She sounded furious, but under all that, a little bit of emotional pain was showing through her eyes. This confused Jon. Perhaps something had happened in her past that made her assume such a ridiculous notion. He prayed not. _What a hot-headed girl... no wonder she has a bit of Jet in her blood. Still, to assume such a ridiculous notion! What nerve._

"Listen to me!" Jon hissed. She stepped back a bit, sensing his fury. "I'm not trying to sleep with you, I would _never_ , I'm married for Christ's sake. I'll get you a sit down with Abstergo R&D, they'll work out the details with you. They can pay you, get a tutor and babysitter for your siblings, and you all can build a proper life here." Renley did not seem altogether satisfied with Jon's persistence, but she bit her lip and considered her options, looking at the floor. _Go ahead and wander New York City with three young children and no money,_ Jon thought viciously. _See what happens_.

"If I work with you, and I get paid, would we be able to keep this apartment?" She asked finally. Jon honestly had no idea about that. Abstergo would probably pay her enough to keep her with them, especially with her connection, but he doubted that they would pay her enough to afford this apartment long-term. Of course, the Templars had paid off this apartment ten times over. _There are other safehouses in the city,_ he thought.

Jon merely smiled in response. "I suppose so." Renley's anger returned to a grateful smile and she thanked Jon. _Weird moodswing. Perhaps that also runs in their blood._

"I'll come by tomorrow morning to take you over to Abstergo," Jon informed her. He pulled a twenty dollar bill out and placed it next to the landline phone. _Untraceable phone, of course_. He grabbed a pen and wrote a local number. "I suggest Mac's Pizza. Best damn pizza in Brooklyn!" Renley nodded at him.

"Thank you Mr. Connington," she said. "Sorry about that whole, you know, accusing you of trying to sleep with me." Jon waved it away. He feared that response was a little too natural for her, and felt pity.

"Please, call me Jon," the Templar said, opening the door. "You and I will do great things together. I promise." The door closed behind him with a soft click. He started toward the elevator and felt his phone vibrate. It was Laetitia.

"Yes?" Jon answered.

"I trust you have some information for us on this Renley woman," Laetitia stated. It was not a question, but a veiled threat masked as a statement.

"We still have to get in her into the damn Animus. But I think the results will be good," Jon said. The elevator opened and Jon stepped in. "I'll forward the results to you as soon as possible."

"Yes, do so. Send me the preliminary reports once you have something," the Templar woman replied.

"Of course," Jon said with a thin smile on his face. "I won't let you down."


	9. ACT 1: Chapter 8 - JET

**JET**

* * *

Much like the weather in rural Pennsylvania, the city of Manhattan was experiencing beautiful, sunny skies in the afternoon, and many were out and about. People were either on their way to lunch, to meet up with friends, head to work, or to simply just go for a walk. However, for the hot-headed Assassin who had been framed recently, he was underneath the city, regaling his other comrades about the situation he had experienced the day before.

Jet paced around the underground Assassin den of Manhattan in the lounge area, obviously rambling over-exaggeratedly as Jet tended to do once his annoyance had reached a certain level. That level, of course, was quite low.

"So then this guy... Jon or whatever, he's a Master Templar, right? So I tried to jump him for some information-"

"You attacked a Master Templar in broad daylight?" The British Mentor, Adam, sat cross-armed, an eyebrow raised. The Mentor looked to be a simple man, save for the multiple scars that adorned his body. Same as Jet, and same as any Assassin higher-up.

"Listen, I knew something was up, and I had the element of surprise on my side! I wasn't gonna kill him, just so you know..." Jet waved his hand dismissively, his Manhattan accent whirling up from within him. While Jet and Adam were like brothers, they tended to argue quite a lot.

Mason, the strong-jawed cousin of Jet, made a loud scoff at Jet's defense to cut him off.

"Yeah, Jet, the guy who would _never_ kill a Templar for no reason." Mason chuckled sarcastically, nudging Adam, who tilted his head at Jet. He knew all too well about Jet's sheer distaste of Templars. Jet had been a subject of Abstergo, after all.

Mason and Jet also had a strange relationship, Mason being the only close family Jet had left, and the same basically went for Mason. Cousins by blood, brothers by choice. These two constantly butted heads, more-so than Jet and Adam.

"Okay, okay, whatever! I almost killed him, but only because he wouldn't listen to what I had to fuckin' say!" Jet tried to defend himself, only making him more riled.

"Oh, yes... I'd totally listen to you if you suddenly attacked me in an alleyway." Mason gave Jet a deadpan stare, while Adam was the one to start chuckling. Jet's hands curled into fists.

"Will you two listen to me?! I almost killed him, but then this chick randomly showed up, and when she heard who I was, she just attacked me! She had a little brother or whatever that shouted at us and we stopped, and he told us to follow, and he showed us all the news, and I saw they captured... well, they _thought_ they captured me. There was something about that chick, too. Her name... It was Renley. She didn't tell me a last name though." Jet explained, stopping to chew his lip in thought.

Something about Renley's name had struck Jet at the time, but he couldn't place it. It bothered Jet a lot that he couldn't remember, because Jet had a knack for having a near-perfect memory. Maybe her name was shared by someone he knew growing up. He had been through a lot of schools and families in his life, and Renley was one of those "every now and then" names that would kind of stick out.

"I could do some research on it, if it bothers you. The thing that I'm curious about is why Jon was with this girl. How old was she?" Adam asked.

"Couldn't be older than eighteen. If you ask me, she looked about fifteen. Could be wrong. Short girl, too, and kind of boney. You're right, I... actually didn't think about that. Why was Jon escorting around this girl? Yeah, do some research, if you wouldn't mind." Jet said, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at a point in space, wondering.

"Maybe she was a victim in the attack? Or maybe had Templar connections? Might be likely she's just one of his relatives." Mason shrugged, offering his input.

"I don't think so, she seemed... not very well-off? She was just wearing a ratty t-shirt and ripped up jeans, and I don't think she was the type of girl that wanted to dress like that. Could be wrong, though. Girls are weird." Jet huffed.

"Says you," Mason smirked, but one rather pained look from Jet shut him right up. "Sorry, you know I didn't mean it in that way..." He looked away.

"It's fine," Jet exhaled lightly. He couldn't let that bother him anymore, but it still did, and he feared it always would. _Why would he say something like that... he knows it still hurts. Gah, shut up, Jet! Get over it!_

The pain of losing someone was a familiar emotion for Jet, a scar even, but the pain of losing someone he had grown to truly love and care for... it wasn't a scar, it was a bleeding wound that refused to heal. Jet's rampant mind never let him heal. He could still hear her voice off in the distance sometimes. That voice used to be his way to hear her again and provided an escape, but now, it just prolonged the bleeding.

Mason looked at him concernedly. "Look Jet, you should really talk to someone if you're still-"

"I said it's fine!" Jet snapped, lips pulled back in a snarl. "It's fine. Jesus." Red in the face over his own outburst, he crossed his arms again and looked away.

Mason and Adam exchanged a look when Jet wasn't looking.

"Come on Adam, I want to see what we're dealing with here." Jet nodded to Adam in a low voice, flicking his shoulder to signal him to follow. He made a few steps before he heard his cousin's voice behind him again.

"Hey! You've got recruits in the gym!" Mason shouted after him, pointing towards the gym doors that connected to the lounge.

"Take over for me, would you? This is important." Jet said to Mason flatly, a hint of authoritative annoyance in his tone.

"Fine, fine." Mason sighed, getting up and heading into the gym, where the recruits were doing running exercises.

Jet and Mason jointly ran the Manhattan den, even though the Mentors, the highest ranking Assassins, liked to visit and live here often. Mason had lived here for years, even before the den had been raided about four years ago and had been almost completely demolished. Mason had fixed up the portion they use today, but most of the old den lies in ruins they call the "Broken Tunnels" because the structure of the den was similar to a maze. When Mason had gone on a long vacation away from the war when things had cooled down, Jet had started to train new recruits for the Brotherhood at this den, and began running it by himself for a time.

There was a period months back where Jet's mental health started to decline and he fell out of power briefly. That was when the second attack on the Manhattan den happened, as proved by the barely-covered scorch marks on some of the walls and furniture.

Jet brushed past one of the scorch marks, shuddering with a flare of anger whenever he saw one. He wasn't there. He wasn't there to protect his brothers, and they paid the price.

 _Veronica_... He thought, _You did this._ Or was it her?

" _If you think it wasn't her, then how come the fingerprints used to get in here were a one-hundred percent match?_ " He heard the Mentor Thomas' voice break through his thoughts as he remembered the realization of the event.

Adam walked up behind Jet finally, putting a hand on his shoulder briefly. "We'll go to my room," he said before brushing past him.

Jet followed the Mentor, standing a few inches taller than his superior but keeping a few paces behind him at all times. Jet was ambitious, but never sought to have the same role Adam had. Too much pressure, he had said to himself. Even so, Jet and Adam had few times where they had seen eye-to-eye. In Jet's words, Adam was a soft-hearted leader who was fit for a lesser role, but not Mentor. Nevertheless, Jet obeyed in the end. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to lie his allegiances, and Adam had proved many times to be a reliable friend.

Being the tech wizard of the Assassins, Adam's room in the den was towards the far end of the repaired rooms, half of it covered in wires and bits of various projects he was working on or tinkering with. He hopped onto a swivelling chair in front of three different monitors, while Jet pulled up a wooden chair from the other desk and sat backwards on it, folding his arms over the backrest as he watched boredly. Adam tended to get off-topic easily, and Jet was still tired from his trip.

"Alright...So, Renley... no last name you said? I'll just search in the Philadelphia region..." He clicked a few words onto the keyboard while Jet rubbed his tired face with his hand. This could get excruciating fast. He didn't know what was worse: helping out a disabled old woman with the basics of a computer or hearing Adam spout his technical garbage at a million miles per second.

"Anything?" Jet asked after a few mouse-clicks.

Adam breathed. "Damn... Yeah, Mason was right. Renley Kipling is her full name. Lived at the same apartment that blew up. No wonder she attacked you, in her mind at the time, you had destroyed her home." Adam explained. _Oof, ouch... now I get it._

"Mmm... still, I feel like I should know her from somewhere. Could just be my normal paranoia though." Jet grunted, slumping forward even more.

"Are you taking your medication every day?" Adam abruptly turned and raised an eyebrow like a father who was checking if his son was high or not.

"Yeah, _Dad_. Of course. I can't function properly without them anymore, you know that." Jet growled. The young man was on an assemblage of medication, namely antipsychotics to treat his schizophrenia he lived with, among a few other disorders. Thomas had told him it was a miracle they even still let him fight with all that was wrong with him. _Pity, probably. But they shouldn't pity something like me. Pity is weakness in place of reality._

Adam rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. No need to get snippy. Let me look around the database, maybe she's connected to something Templar-related..."

Jet rested his head on the backrest of the chair again, his arms forming a pillow. He didn't realize how tired he was until he was in such a dimly-lit room and the only sound was a softly-clicking keyboard. A few minutes of shut-eye wouldn't hurt...

* * *

 _"You're an idiot, Jet..." She said, stumbling back to the open bar and taking another drink._

 _"How much d-did you drink?" I asked, looking at her bottle as I sauntered over._

 _"I don't know... hehehehe... like... thiiiis much!" She laughed, motioning to the bottle, which was 3/4 gone._

 _"Daaammn, girl, you ain't a lightweight, that's for sure," I whistled, eyebrows raised._

 _"Well, this girl is Russian!" She boasted, putting a thumb to her chest._

 _"I'm Russian too! We have soooo much in common..." I say exaggeratedly, letting the words just slip off at this point. I was getting to the point where I just said shit without even thinking it over. Oh fuck, this was not going to be good._

 _"If you would be less mean, we could be friends..." She said, looking rather sad as she started absently picking the sticker off of the bottle._

 _"I'm sorry for bein' mean to you... I don't really mean it, I just kinda like... I don't know." I slurred, not even knowing what to say. Something in me was sure I needed to comfort her though._

 _"I know you're not all bad... you can be nice." She said, smiling and looking at me. Her eyes were really pretty... prettier than before? Was that possible? What? This is embarrassing._

 _"I'm nice to the people I like," I finally said, elbows on the bar to get closer._

 _"You must hate me, then!" She scoffed, a smile on her face as she spun away from me on the stool with the bottle._

 _"Oh, I absolutely hate you, princess." I said sarcastically, smiling as well._

 _"You want some now, hotshot?" She spun back over to the bar, giggling as she swayed the bottle of tequila in front of me tantalizingly._

 _"They say you shouldn't mix drinks." I mumbled, biting my lip as I was tempted to drink it anyway._

 _"Just a taste, then."_

 _Without warning, she reached for my collar and pulled me across the bar into a kiss. It didn't register until about... five seconds in? Yeah, I could definitely taste the tequila... Soft lips, too._

 _She pulled away, pushing me back into my stool, giggling madly again as she tipped her bottle back again. I prayed my face wasn't as red as it felt; even without the kiss my face got pretty red when I was drunk._

 _"Where'd that come from?" I snickered, now feeling a little more confident as I took another sip of my drink. I should probably stop soon._

 _"Oh you know...You're funny. Your face looks like a-a-a tomato!" She exclaimed, then slapped her knee in amusement, laughing so hard she almost fell to the floor._

 _Well, shit, my face was apparently pretty red, and the realization of such probably just made it more-so._

 _"Uhh... I think you're done." I said, laughing as I walked behind the counter and grabbed the bottle from her._

 _"Noooo... there's still some left..." She whined, trying to drunkenly grab the bottle from me, but I held it at a distance from her. There was still about 1/5 left._

 _"Neither of us will drink it, okay? We gotta... uh... we gotta... were we supposed to do somethin'?" I asked, drawing a blank._

 _"We gotta make the penthouse go 'booooom'!" She squeaked, her hands animating an explosion._

 _"Oooh yeah. Come on, we should go." I said, grabbing her hand._

 _"Noooo... let's watch a movie!" She pulled my hand back._

 _"We can't, we gotta go before the Shanghai police get us, remember? Christ, you don't even know what continent we're on..." I rolled my head around in amusement, pulling her too._

 _"Ooookay... are you... are you too drunk to drive?" She asked quizzically as we walked out. She was practically hanging off of me now, hands grabbing whatever fabric of me she could cling to._

 _"I'm completely... Fine. Lessgo! We gotta put you at the airport to go home." I said, disguising a belch behind a fist. God I felt like a mess..._

 _"You're not flying home with meeee?" She whined as we kept almost tripping down the flights of stairs._

 _"No, I have work to do up north. I'm sure I'll see ya again... what, you gonna miss me that quickly?" I scoffed._

" _I dunno! I might. You're way more fun than those other Assassins..." She grabbed a fistful of my shirt to keep herself steady. I stayed more quiet after that, fearful I would say something completely dumb._

 _The flights of stairs seem endless, especially to my inebriated mind. Down, down, down, around, down, down..._

 _"Jet... Can you carry me?" Emily whined finally, taking her shoes off. I knew how drunk she must be if she was seriously giving up her own independence to let me do something for her._

 _"Oh, anything for you, princess." I rolled my eyes, but allowed myself to give her a piggyback the rest of the way down._

 _"I wish you could be this nice all the time." She whispered tiredly into my ear, her arms wrapping around my neck._

" _I do too..." I said for some reason, exhaling softly._

 _I let out another deep sigh as we finally exited the building. Emily managed to click the top of her pen, and we walked away without a second expression as the top of the building burst into flames._

* * *

"Jet! Jet, wake up, you dolt!" Adam nudged Jet in the shoulder after some time the young man had drifted off.

 _God... three fucking years and I still have those dreams... those memories..._

"Huh?" Jet lifted his head, blinking himself awake. Adam pointed to the screen of the middle monitor, showing an Abstergo logo in the upper right-hand corner.

"I hacked into the Abstergo database, but was only given about one minute before it got blocked up again... God, their defenses get better each time... but look! There's a whole file on Renley." He explained all in an excited British jumble as Jet squinted at the bright screen.

On the screen, a list of names popped up, all showing their current location, age, affiliation, etc. Adam had highlighted the one with Renley Kipling on it, a file opening up on the right-hand monitor.

"Encrypted," Jet repeated what the file had plastered across the page. Dammit, another dead end.

"These other files for these other people on the list... all fine and working. Most of them are just names of people who beta-tested Animi or were business associates with Abstergo, but why would Renley be on there if it wasn't something important, especially if they took the time to encrypt it?" Adam asked mainly himself, thinking.

Jet's thoughts were buzzing too, even through the haze of sleepiness. "This concerns me. I think Jon is up to something; he acted very paranoid about me, and I don't think it was about me attacking him. It felt like he was protecting Renley- I could just sense it from him. Could be wrong, though. If this is the case, she could be here in New York." Jet said, now trying to construct other plans to find her.

"We are _not_ using our resources to break into Abstergo to rescue her, if that's what you're thinking." Adam warned. They'd already broken into Abstergo once before, and that was to rescue Jet himself. Oh yes, Jet knew all too well about Abstergo Headquarters...

"No, no. That'd be stupid... I just fear about what Jon might have been hiding from me about her. I feel like there's more to her. Perhaps she has First Civilization blood, like us." Jet wondered.

"It's very possible. They'd want that information very tightly-kept if that's the case. I can try to gather more info, but I really think you should rest. You've had a long couple of days." Adam said, leaning back on his chair to stretch.

Jet stood up and stretched too, yawning loudly. "Yeah, I think you're right. Thanks for the help or whatever."

"No problem." Adam said simply, already clicking away at his computer again.

The sleepy Assassin exited the room, mind still distracted by the prospect of this new girl he had met. There was still something about her that Jet couldn't place, but he decided he'd focus on that after he had gotten some much-needed rest.

Ignoring the brown-haired ghost of _her_ that always lingered in the corner of his bedroom, he collapsed into bed and fell back asleep quickly. As usual, she called out to him and tried to touch his shoulder and waist, but he let her sink to the recesses of his mind until the only noise was the distant sound of the subway system.

Months ago, it had been such a task for him to find sleep while she lingered in every space of his vision, and every corner of his ears.

Time had made him numb.

He did not dream again that night.


	10. ACT 1: Chapter 9 - RENLEY

**RENLEY**

* * *

Renley wasn't used to this kind of luxury and freedom. Her own bed, her own room, her own bathroom and mirror... She had tried a dozen times to attempt to snap herself out of the dream she had to be having. Even if it was a dream, she decided, she might as well make the best of it.

In the bathroom mirror, the girl tied back her brown hair into her usual ponytail before washing her face and brushing her teeth, trying to add in as much normalcy as she could. These attempts at instituting a sense of "normal" only got better as Leila yelled for Renley from the adjacent room, followed by Jack and Theo running around and touching everything in the apartment.

"Hey! This place isn't ours, be careful!" Renley warned the two brothers with a finger pointed at them. One annoyed "hey" from Renley was usually enough to make them stop in their tracks, mostly since if Renley was annoyed, it was likely their mother or god forbid, their father was going to be upset too. This behavior was ingrained in them, this feeling of fear for adults. At least for Theo, that is. Jack was the outgoing one, while Theo, the youngest brother, was very quiet most of the time.

"Sorry... What's for breakfast?" Jack threw a pillow on the couch before flopping on it, followed by Theo, climbing onto Jack's back.

"I'll figure out something, gimme a sec." Renley left the two siblings in the living room, fetching the third and youngest one from her room.

Leila sat up in her bed, clutching a stuffed bear that was almost the size of her. Alana had given the bear to Leila since the little girl was scared to sleep alone since she had grown up sleeping in the same bed as Renley. She had thought it would be good for her to start learning to sleep on her own.

"Did you sleep okay, sweetheart?" Renley asked softly, sitting beside Leila on the bed.

"Mmhm! Bear kept me safe." She smiled, hugging the stuffed animal.

"C'mon, let's get some breakfast." Renley picked up Leila in one arm, carrying the stuffed bear in the other after Leila insisted that the stuffed animal had to have some breakfast too.

And so, the new family sat at the table a little while later after Renley had cooked some eggs and toast for them all (and a little extra for Leila's bear). Shortly after, the younger siblings all crowded around the flat screen TV, gasping at how amazing it was to their eyes.

Renley chuckled at their amazement, only because they were so enthralled with the current channel, which happened to be professional golf. She found it intriguing how many people above the lower class would probably take all of this for granted. Renley even found herself staring at the stainless steel refrigerator for quite some time, before a knock was heard on the door.

 _ **Knock, knock.**_

"I'LL GET IT!" All four of them sounded at once, but while the two boys tripped over each other and Leila struggled to even get to her feet, Renley was already bounding to the door.

"Stay put!" She put a hand up to keep them back while she slowly opened the door.

Jon and Alana stood in the hall, smiling. "Good morning! How is everyone?" Jon asked cheerily.

"Great! You can come in, if you'd like." Renley offered, returning the gratitude.

Jon waved off the offer. "I'm afraid we don't have time, you need to come with me for the day so we can begin the research I had told you about. No worries though, Alana's going to watch your brothers and sister."

Alana gave a reassuring grin before Renley allowed her inside, and immediately Renley saw her sibling's faces light up. They associated Alana with "the woman who had rescued them" after the explosions. Renley was happy they had an older woman they could actually trust for once... but did Renley trust her? She had to. She had a debt to pay and Alana genuinely seemed to be happy to babysit...

"Alana!" Jack grinned, immediately hugging her. She laughed as the kids basically bombarded her with hugs before retreating back to the couch.

"Alright, I've got a nice treat. I brought some cool movies you guys would like..." Alana said, pulling out a pack of movies from her bag. Renley recognized most of them as Disney classics that she had only seen once or twice total due to their lack of entertainment growing up. She was happy that her little siblings could be able to have a little piece of a normal childhood through those movies, at least for a small while.

This reaction gave Renley all the reassurance she needed. The kids needed someone like Alana, someone who would be more a mother to them than Renley could be. Family was a difficult and confusing thing, but Alana was what everyone needed right now.

She nodded to Jon, "Let's go, then."

* * *

"Alright, what do you see?" Renley heard Jon's voice seemingly from the back of her head, like he was talking from another side of a large room behind her.

The Animus loading screen was strange, at least for this model, which was supposed to be some prototype that was more immersive. At least, that's what Jon had explained. In front of her was a digitalized opaque blue room that extended whenever she took a step forward.

"It's like I'm in a digital version of a super clean hospital room? Ugh, that makes no sense does it..." She said, and her voice came out like she was talking through a cone of sorts, muffled and distant.

"Looks like you're all good, actually. The memories are booting up. I'm going to give you a rundown on what you're gonna be helping us with in just a second," Jon explained, and Renley heard a distant tapping on a keyboard.

She looked at her hands for a few seconds, which swayed and seemed less solid than her real organic form. It was like she was put into one of those fancy video games that she never got to play but heard others talk about. Her heart heated up with excitement and anxiousness at the possibilities ahead of her.

Jon had explained the basics of the Animus to her, since Renley was unfamiliar with technology in general. It was a device where one could replay memories of their ancestors and act them out, but they're required to stay within certain parameters. Actions in the Animus don't actually change the timeline, they're just to play around in, he said. If you do something weird or go somewhere your ancestor never went though, the Animus isn't capable of handling it and you'd be desynchronized. It used blood as its fuel, which Renley wasn't happy about since she hated needles, but once she was put under she couldn't even feel it at all.

"Alright, so we're starting in 1476 in Florence, Italy. You have an important ancestor named Ignazio Auditore, who was the elusive cousin of another man, a man named Ezio Auditore. We've already done extensive research before on Ezio using a different volunteer, but... it was very strange. After that volunteer left, we noticed certain memories didn't seem quite right, like there was something else hidden behind these memories. Records have erased many parts of Ignazio's history, so it was hard to find someone with the proper blood to get into his memories. What we believed had happened was that something in Ignazio's past triggered something in the Animus that made all records of him disappear, though this might also be one of our er... our competitors' doing... it's all political really, I won't get too much into it. But Ignazio... we had a volunteer for him awhile back too, and we found out that the previous volunteer... his entire timeline was a lie, or at least changed from actual reality. Most of Ignazio's memories are still locked, it seems though..." Jon explained rather quickly, then seemed to be perplexed over something. Renley thought his words were strange, and rather confusing. Perhaps on purpose...

"Still locked? You mean someone else has gone through this, like those volunteers?" Renley asked.

"Yes, but it's classified information. He was called Subject 21- we call the volunteers "Subjects" for clarity- but he left us due to an emergency within his family. Had really pure blood, too. Your blood is good for this as well, it's just that there's no new memories like I expected, it's almost all the same one's we've seen... Except for a few towards the end... hmmm..." Jon rambled off into thought it seemed. Special attention seemed to be around the name "Subject 21" that intrigued Renley, but she thought better than to ask. Perhaps she'd just find out later, she thought. What was more interesting to her was this ancestor he spoke of.

"Explain Ignazio; I'm confused here. What's so special about some old dead Italian?" Renley snorted slightly, walking around the digital room.

She heard Jon chuckle. "Alright, I'll let you in on a little secret, but you can't tell anyone," His voice lowered, but there was a slight edge to it, as if one might think he wasn't serious or explaining a white lie to a child. "There's these artifacts I mentioned that the government has tasked some of us with discovering. These artifacts were held by some members in people's pasts, but have been long hidden. If they were found, they could be properly researched and we might even change the course of how we understand history. There's a lot of money at stake, so that's why it's so important. They're said to have strange properties to them, probably some sort of chemical or whatnot."

Renley thought about this while she paced inside the digital room. She didn't know much of anything about old artifacts or chemicals... Jon could have said anything there and she'd be too ignorant to know. She decided since he was the scientist here he knew what he was talking about. Whatever, she had a home and her family was safe. She'd do practically anything by now.

"Okay, so I'm looking for these artifact things. Ignazio had one? Also, will I be getting a share of this government money or whatever?" She was only half-joking about that one.

"Haha, of course you'll get a share. And yes, Ignazio had one of these artifacts. Ezio came into contact with one too. Ignazio's and Ezio's timelines are parallel many times in these memories, which is why having Ignazio's parts erased with that first volunteer was so strange. You see, we _know_ they had these artifacts, but towards the end of their memories, their artifacts' places of rest get muddy. The last subject couldn't access the last memories that explains valuable things about the artifacts' places of rest. You, however, seem to have slightly stronger blood. I think if you run through a few memories beforehand you'll be able to do this. The memories selected will highlight important things about Ignazio, since it's important to understand him before moving on. If I just plopped you into the final memories, the Animus might not read it properly and malfunction. Just one thing, though..."

"What is it?"

"Don't believe what Ezio or Ignazio might believe in or say. They were part of a... cult of types that murdered people in the supposed 'name of freedom'. Do not believe their ideals." Jon seemed very stressed about this point.

"Why would I believe someone who murdered people for any such ideal? Hm... And here I was thinking the Renaissance period was going to be a boring cakewalk like it was in my History classes." Renley said confidently, excited to see the capabilities of technology she was never exposed to.

"You'd be surprised..." Renley was a little confused at why Jon sounded so tired when he said that. "You ready?"

"Wait, how do I control my movements? Just like I am now?" Renley asked.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. In a normal Animus, you would, but in this prototype, you're going to also feel the emotions and actions play out for you. Basically, just sit back and relax. It'll be like an extremely immersive movie. Sorry, but it'll cause less distraction this way and be much quicker. You just have to have a quick eye and mind for things, and you're allowed to talk, but Ignazio won't speak as you. Talk to me if you have questions or think you see something odd."

"Okay. I'm ready." Renley gulped, the nervousness setting in. Jon seemed to pick up on that.

"Nothing to be worried about. If anything goes wrong in the slightest, you'll be pulled out. Nobody has ever died in an Animus, it's impossible."

Renley took a deep breath before Jon typed into a keyboard.

"Alright, first memory. 1476, Florence. This memory is the beginning of Ignazio's journey, per se. It's when he and Ezio's timelines begin to run parallel."

The scene in front of Renley began to slowly turn from an opaque crystal blue into sheer yellows and golds.

"Entering memory," Jon's voice rang out, "Three, two..."

His voice drowned out as Renley herself was drowned in the sea of color breaking free before her.


	11. ACT 1: Chapter 10 - IGNAZIO

**IGNAZIO**

* * *

This was it. Maybe it was the familiar warm air, or perhaps it was the fact that he could finally find out where and how his family dropped off the face of the earth almost eight years ago. _It has been Hell, but you made it,_ He told himself, slowing his eager pace as he went to sit down next to a circular well in the middle of the bumbling square. Quaintly-dressed patrons of all shapes and sizes littered the square, either huddled in the latest gossip or off to the market or a friend's home.

A beautiful sunny day, the right temperature... A cool breeze sifted through the young boy's chestnut brown hair as his eyes of a similar color filtered through the crowd of people. He pulled a black hood over his head to combat the wind and keep himself more anonymous. Not that anyone was searching for him, he just absolutely _hated_ being in large groups of people. But here, perhaps it wasn't so bad. Not like anyone would recognize him anymore... He was as good as dead to the few that knew him. Erased in the stroke of one night.

 _One of these people knows my family, or if I'm lucky, is one of them,_ He thought, pulling out small golden dagger from within his coat and fiddling with it. He picked under his nails with the end of it, admiring its sheen that reflected the overhead sun. Its golden glow was perhaps the only virtue of the item he actually enjoyed, but the rest? Chaos.

After about two hours of watching and waiting for a familiar face to pop up in the crowd, he sighed deeply and leaned back against the stone well wall. He never forgot a face... but could he really remember what his cousins and uncle looked like from so long ago? Frustration prickled through the boy's body as he began to think he wouldn't find them here. What if they moved away? Or worse... what if the same people that imprisoned and killed his parents so long ago killed them too? " _Merda!_ " He swore under his breath, got up, and threw the delicate little dagger down the well angrily.

He began to walk away, knowing the precious dagger would find its place back in his pocket or coat. It always did. No matter how many times he had tried to get rid of it, it reappeared in his possession, or near him at the least.

Ever since he strangled the head of monks at that Spanish monastery that his family forced him to go to. That monk... _You know you'll never forget those words he said as you choked the last breath out of him... "The dagger is yours to hold, forever hold your peace."_ He thought, remembering the words. That dagger was a symbol of his ruined childhood. A boy forced to grow up, move on, and find answers at an age where the biggest achievement would have been winning a foot race against his neighbors or seeing who could skip a stone across a creek bed the longest. Twice kidnapped, once almost sold into slavery, three times thrown into the back of a sketchy caravan to hitch-hike, and countless times stealing and pickpocketing to be able to survive all the way to Italy. Twelve years old with the mentality of an adult. And all the emotions within him contained anger and betrayal. He wanted revenge.

Revenge to those who wronged his parents under the guise of politics. Revenge to the politics that had ruined him. Revenge to the ruins that cursed him.

The boy made sure his hood was up all the way, giving him good visibility but shielding his face from prying eyes. His hair was usually the biggest giveaway amongst the sea of mainly dark-haired people: chestnut, but when in direct sunlight, the color of a dark fire. Ignazio. Fire. His name was the only thing he really remembered about his parents, always calling him that. He didn't know if that was his real name or not, but it stuck.

His stomach rumbled, but his pockets were light. He needed to find some food off someone, or better, gold.

 _Target acquired,_ his brain told him, eyes flickering on a young male about twenty years in age. Brown hair, strong, probably a noble if one looked at his rich clothing, and hanging from his belt was a fat sack of gold. A bad idea, perhaps; he looked strong, but Ignazio could tell by his gait that there was something distracting him on the horizon. A perfect target.

Falling silently in step behind him, Ignazio paced his steps faster and faster until he was almost next to the man. He began to slowly reach for the bag of gold on his belt.

" _Fight! Fight! Fight!_ " Ignazio heard the sound of loud Italian chanting a street over.

The man started walking considerably faster at the sound of the chanting, and Ignazio heard him mutter, "Not again... Let it not be Vieri again..."

Before the man could turn around the corner, Ignazio quickly snatched the gold as the man shifted his weight to turn the corner sharply. A perfect pickpocket. Ignazio kept in pace as he hid the gold in his coat and ducked into the nearest alleyway. He shifted the gold bag between both hands. There had to be at least forty florins in this thing... enough to buy a feast! Ignazio felt a bit guilty like he always did when he pickpocketed, but he justified it by saying to himself that that man was a noble anyway, he didn't need the money, right? Ignazio was trying to survive! He needed it more than them! Still, the familiar feeling of guilt crept over him as he put the gold bag into his belt, next to... ugh, that dagger. That stupid dagger was back. No matter.

Before he could get caught up in his own mind, the sound of chanting got louder. Ignazio's curiosity got the better of him as he went to investigate. The crowd of people got bigger as they started to cluster in a wide circle in the middle of the street.

"Get him! Kill him!" A few people chanted. Ignazio squeezed his way up front to get a better view.

He saw the man he pickpocketed from in the middle of the clearing, talking to a dark-haired man who was bleeding from the lip.

"Come on, little brother. Let's show Vieri not to mess with us." The man said, putting his hand on the other man's shoulder. The darker-haired man wiped his bleeding lip, red smearing onto his white sleeve.

" _Bastardos!_ Get them! I want their corpses littering the street!" Ignazio looked across the clearing to see a short, long-haired young noble point towards the two men with frustration making his face churn. The man with the bloodied lip flicked his arm to signal a group of shady cohorts behind them to move forward as the nobleman's band of guards advanced.

Ignazio watched with both excitement and anxiousness as both groups charged at each other. At the pinnacle of the fight was the two brothers, both obviously strong and proficient in fighting. The black-haired man threw one punch into a guard's jaw and sent him crashing to the pavement out-cold. The brother, the man Ignazio pickpocketed from, took two of the guards single-handedly, dodging a swing by one and grabbing and kicking the other to the ground. Within a minute the guards were starting to retreat. To no surprise, the nobleman called a retreat before looking disgustedly at the two brothers. The look of "I'll get you next time."

The man walked over to his brother as the crowd started to dissipate and gossip over what just went down. Ignazio kept to the shadows but tried to listen over the rabble. These two brothers were interesting to say the least, but his mind was trying to tell him that if they caught on that they were stolen from, there'd be trouble. They've proven they were remarkably strong and Ignazio didn't want to mess with them. He settled on a bench about twenty feet away from them and tried to listen.

"You're still bleeding," The brown-haired man said with a hint of concern, trying to get a better look at the wound.

"It's fine, brother." The black-haired man replied gruffly, looking away and wiping away the trickling blood from his upper lip again.

"Oh, come along Ezio, we'll get you patched up at the doctor. Mother will have a fit if you show up like this." The man said at the black-haired man apparently named Ezio.

Ezio. _Ezio_. He _knew_ that name. It started to really pick under his skin in the following moments. He knew that name, but from where? Did this Ezio know his family? He felt nauseous all of a sudden. He had to get out of here, it didn't feel safe anymore.

Keeping his head low, he walked down the street in the other direction where the nobleman and his guards fled. Maybe that man could provide answers, he thought. Not by asking, of course. Ignazio was a professional at eavesdropping, and he saw a guard limp into a nearby building. Ignazio kept his back to the wall and made sure nobody was around and pressed his ear against the cool wall.

"-their family will pay! I want the city guard to find, arrest, and hang every member of that blasted Auditore family!" He heard the angry nobleman's voice from before.

 _Auditore_. Oh no.

Ignazio Auditore. Those brothers... Ezio Auditore. He was Ignazio's cousin! And his brother... Federico Auditore. Ignazio never forgot a name so quickly. Especially those of the family who betrayed him. But it was his uncle who betrayed him, not them...

* * *

The scene seemed to slow down before pausing.

"What happened to Ignazio?" Renley immediately asked, both enraptured with the way she saw that whole scene unfold and confused on how Ignazio was feeling.

"Difficult topic to explain," Jon began. "When Ignazio was a child, his parents were taken prisoner for a political issue that is still unclear. Giovanni, Ezio's father and Ignazio's uncle, did not want to ruin the reputation he fought so hard to earn. Ignazio was sent to a Spanish monastery which was his safest bet of survival, but things turned sour, to put it simply, and he ran away some years later. He was always bitter about Giovanni not taking him in, but it was truly the best choice given the other Subject we had here was quite interesting as well, namely due to the fact the earlier versions of the Animus actually started to block out and warp parts with Ignazio in it. We think it's due to the artifact he didn't have at the time, because it did a weird thing with memories. That's why the later Subject _could_ see Ignazio. Very difficult to explain, I'm sorry for rambling."

"Still... it's strange to feel so much anger... I feel bad for Ignazio." Renley murmured, trying to keep her focus on Ignazio even though her head was buzzing with questions about this "other Subject" and Ezio.

"You may feel bad for him, but remember what I said earlier: These men are not to be trusted." Jon warned.

"I understand, sorry."

"No problem. Let's continue."

* * *

 _I can't just sit here,_ Ignazio thought as he started walking in the direction where his cousins went. They said they were going to the doctors, and he remembered seeing one on his way in (and the exact location he was at, thanks to his memory). Ignazio headed for the doctor's, staring from across the street at the peculiar bird-masked man. Strange that a man meant to help people would dress as a creature of prey. He was disappointed to see that the doctor had no patients at the moment and was packing up medicine.

He approached the doctor with a confident gait. "Hello, were two brothers here just now? One with a bloody lip?" He asked, keeping his voice level and clear.

Ignazio couldn't tell his expression behind that strange bird mask, but he responded, "They went down that street, but I'm not sure. Sorry, why do you ask?"

"No reason. Thank you." Ignazio said simply, walking in the direction the doctor directed. He wasn't trained in the art of speech with people, which was a valuable skill. He prayed the doctor was too caught up in his own work to mind much about his suspicion.

A shadow flicked past the cobblestone in front of where Ignazio was trodding. Another shadow nimbly followed. Ignazio swiftly tilted his head up to see the two brothers racing and climbing up and over Florence's many buildings and towers that cascaded over Ignazio's view. He thought he was the only one with exceptional climbing and running skills from all the times he had tried to escape the monastery, but he was proven wrong as Ezio and Federico easily scaled the great tower above the square Ignazio had just entered.

The chestnut-haired boy ran over to a group of barrels and started to climb, ledge by ledge, until he was on the roof. He hid on the shingled house roof behind the tower, hidden by a large chimney post. Ignazio tried to listen to see where they were going or what they were saying.

"This is a good life we lead, brother." He heard Federico's voice.

"The best. May it never change," Ezio responded with utmost confidence to his brother.

"And may it never change us!"

* * *

Ignazio waited for a few minutes while the brothers took in the beautiful view of a sun setting over Florence. He had almost closed his eyes in exhaustion, but was jerked awake when he heard Ezio and Federico talk again.

"We should head home," said Federico as he began to climb down. He stopped when Ezio didn't respond right away.

"Ezio? Oh, come on. Let Cristina sleep." He huffed, and Ignazio could almost hear his eyes rolling.

"There will be time for that..." Ezio's voice sounded mischievous.

"Fine, I'll make up some sort of story for Mother... as usual." Federico sighed as he jumped the rest of the way down, his boots smacking onto the adjacent roof to Ignazio.

Ignazio didn't realize that when he dozed off, he let his leg slide out to a more relaxed position. Realizing this, he quickly hugged both legs to his chest, praying they didn't notice. Before he could get to the praying bit, a loose shingle slid down the roof and landed with a clatter on the ground below.

"What's that? Who's there?" He heard Ezio's voice as his heart jumped to his throat. _Merda!_

He heard muttering and whispers between the two brothers before he heard footsteps behind him. Without thinking, Ignazio jolted out from his hiding spot, unsheathing his dagger and pointing it at them, his stance wide.

"Don't. Move." He snarled, trying to sound as menacing as possible. The setting sun set fire to his eyes as he challenged the two men.

Surprised at first, Federico almost fell straight onto his backside but Ezio caught him and got him upright. Once they processed the situation, Ezio smirked arrogantly down at him.

"That's quite the fancy letter-opener you've got there, boy." He laughed haughtily, crossing his arms. He was quite unimpressed with what he was seeing.

Ignazio smirked, knowing something they did not. He shut his eyes for a second, envisioning another form for the dagger to take shape. He opened his eyes, a golden shortsword elongating immediately from where the dagger was only a second ago. Ezio and Federico took a step back as Ignazio spun the sword a few times in his hand.

"What in the hell is _that_?" Federico's mouth was agape as he stared at the gleaming golden weapon in incredulity.

"It's an ancient and powerful weapon. I stole it from a church awhile back, and killed twenty of Italia's greatest soldiers! God himself probably made it!" Ignazio hissed, taking a step forward. Federico stepped back again, but Ezio stayed put.

"You use such a grand and holy item only for yourself?" Ezio asked, and to Ignazio's annoyance, he seemed unimpressed yet again. Federico started to catch on that this boy was lying about his little story too, narrowing his eyes.

"What's it matter to you? Do you even know who I am?" Ignazio growled, his knuckles tightening around his strange shape-shifting weapon.

"A thief of a great weapon. A boy cannot be a lone warrior." Ezio huffed, keeping his dark eyes fixated on Ignazio's every movement.

"It doesn't matter what devilish weapon he possesses," Federico suddenly snapped, grabbing for his shortsword on his belt, appearing to not be afraid any longer. "This ends now!" His hands found the shortsword's hilt, but after further examination, he realized something else was missing.

"My gold! Where's the gold Father gave me? I just had the thing! Fifty-five florins... _Merda!_ " Federico frantically started searching the rooftop's ground, forgetting all about Ignazio. Ezio didn't lose his gaze from Ignazio, however, glaring at him coldly. In turn, Ignazio's hand started to quiver as he watched an obsessive Federico nervously.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about Federico's stolen money, now would you?" Ezio spoke smoothly. Those dark eyes gave away nothing.

Ignazio looked quite nervous now, and finally lowered his weapon, the sword shifting back into the small dagger. He took the bag of stolen gold from his belt and threw it at their feet.

"You should be more aware of your things, cousin. A thief knows when to strike, with or without a blade." He returned Ezio's cold glare, even as his voice quivered.

Federico nor Ezio even glanced at the money now, instead staring at Ignazio, who proceeded to take off his hood and reveal the full features of himself.

" _Madre di Dio..._ It's you..." Federico blinked twice, then three times before believing what he was seeing. Ezio stared blankly for several moments.

"I thought you were dead." Ezio murmured simply.

"Your genius of a father and bastard of an uncle of mine decided it would be absolutely preposterous for the child of two prisoners to live with him. I was shipped off to Madrid to men who could have cared less for me. I seek revenge." Ignazio hissed, keeping his defensive stance.

"Revenge? Well, you're a pretty terrible assassin for just blatantly saying you want to harm our own father out loud, especially after you stole my money! You're nothing more than a thief with a stolen devil's artifact!" Federico shouted, getting considerably more angry than how calm Ezio was being. It was strange that the younger sibling acted more collected than the older.

"I already gave the money back, though..." Ignazio grumbled almost inaudibly.

"Lost your voice? Come on, Ezio. He wants to meet our father, he should!" Federico sneered, reaching to grab for Ignazio. The boy slapped Federico's arm away and backed up, shaking as he pointed his dagger threateningly at him. He knew how good of fighters these two were, and his fear was clear. He suddenly didn't want to kill anyone... especially family.

"Stop it, Federico." Ezio almost commanded his older brother. Federico obviously didn't like that, spitting but backing away. Ezio walked slowly towards Ignazio with a softer expression.

"Look, I don't fully believe you, but if it's your wish to see our father, we will take you to him." He offered, his eyes full of a compassion Ignazio was never used to. Maybe it was just the light.

Ignazio looked into his eyes in that brief moment, contemplating to just run and forget about his well-thought-out revenge plan, but he made himself stop shivering and straighten up.

"Okay," He squeaked, not meeting his gaze any longer and instead he stared down at Ezio's boots. Perhaps it was the sheer weight of meeting his real family again that made him so suddenly overwhelmed and incapable of threatening them any longer. Ignazio started getting embittered again at his own shortcoming, clenching his fists, but Ezio simply put a hand on his shoulder.

"It will be fine, don't worry. I'll make sure Federico doesn't skin you alive on the way home," He joked, glancing at his brother, who began to visibly calm down. Very high-strung, that one.

Family is a strange term for those who have little love in their hearts. What does existence mean if those hallowed short chapters at the beginning flesh out something that is inherently better off not existing?

 _There's no answer for that one,_ Ignazio thought. In time, though. In time he would figure it out, for better or for worse.


	12. ACT 1: Chapter 11 - RENLEY

**RENLEY**

* * *

A gasping inhale broke through whatever barrier her lungs had formed during the Animus session, waking her up in a feverish instant. At first, her vision was an eerie grayish-white, before colors and shapes formed and molded into familiar objects she pieced together from her memory. She was startled to realize she had the most difficulty differentiating between memory of the session and her memory of before the session, which seemed like entirely different worlds. Two timelines that flowed and weaved with one another, but how?

"Are you alright?" A man's voice called from next her before a steadied hand was on her shoulder. It took several seconds to process this voice as Jon's.

She turned to his concerned eyes and nodded. "Y-yeah, I'm good. It's just... an odd feeling."

"Yes, usually people don't have quite the reaction you seem to possess when getting out of a memory. It's no big deal though, it just means you're more in tune with what you're seeing. You didn't speak much during those memories, was something wrong?" Jon asked, spinning a few degrees to the adjacent computer, inputting data that Renley did not understand nor wish to.

"No... it was just..." She found it difficult to piece together words, as if they were lost in some sort of interdimensional soup between the memories of the past and present. Part of her almost spouted out Spanish due to the fact her brain registered Ignazio's prominent thoughts. "So strange. I was caught up in the moment."

Jon nodded, not looking at her, but at the screen, typing away at something. The clicking was the loudest sound in the stagnant, hospital-like room, which picked at the girl ever-so-slightly. Her ears had grown used to the noise of the old Italian streets, but back here, it felt like a sheet had been thrown off her ears.

"You saw Ignazio's weapon though, correct?" Jon asked, stopping his typing and turning to her, creating a new silence that provided more emphasis than necessary on that single question.

"Yes. That golden dagger thing. It... changed..." Renley stared forward.

The pieces fell into place all in one instant.

 _Jet_. That day when he left after meeting them... he turned his golden claws into golden pistols in the blink of an eye. Was that the same weapon? Was Jet someone working against the government that so desperately wanted an artifact possibly similar to that one? It would explain why Jon had seemed to know Jet from somewhere when the two had fought back in Philadelphia.

One lingering piece of paranoia picked apart at Renley's mind like a ravenous ant. Something much bigger than her was going on, and everyone she had met in these past few days had the answers. She knew that Jon would not tell her. She didn't know why or how she knew that his secrets were going to be locked to himself; there was a fierce intelligence within her that she could barely grasp at most times, an intelligence she feared.

Jon began typing again. "Yes, that dagger is an artifact we are looking for, which is why Ignazio's memories are so high-priority. However, later down the line, there's more he discovers that's of high interest. It has to do with-"

"Who was Subject 21?" Renley suddenly cut him off.

Jon stopped typing again, his eyes flickering into her like the same claws she was so perplexed about. He simply sighed and looked down briefly before returning her gaze.

"He was related to you, actually. Distantly, but by blood all the same. We made it far in our research. We've already seen the memories you're experiencing through him, but the fact remains that you possess later memories that he did not. Subject 21 was transferred out of Abstergo HQ around a year and a half ago. Haven't worked with him since." Jon explained clearly, not skipping a beat. It was almost as if he had been memorizing that line for quite awhile. Something about his fierce gaze made Renley's previous thoughts about secrets beyond her knowledge come back in a new wave of realization. Jon was guarding something.

"You said he just didn't volunteer any longer," Renley mumbled.

"Yes, not here, but elsewhere." Jon swiveled back to the computer, feigning disinterest.

In that moment, half of Renley wanted to ask about her thoughts of Jet's strange weapon. If they were looking for an artifact, why didn't Jon reprimand Jet when he had him and take his weapon? J _on could have probably beaten him_ , she thought. It was because of this inner questioning that made her not speak of Jet, and instead she decided to reflect upon it later. If Jon was truly guarding some sort of big secret tied to Ignazio and Jet, she decided it might prove better to wait and see with Ignazio's remaining memories. If the two shape-shifting weapons were indeed the same, at least Renley had another question to add to her ever-expanding list.

"When can I go back in?" She looked at Jon with determined eyes. She wanted answers.

"Relax, chief. You've been in there for six hours, you should head home and eat and rest." Jon said calmly, inputting the last few items into his computer. Renley gingerly took out the needle in her arm, now comfortable with the device. She wondered why she hated the needle before.

"Six hours?" That number made her dizzy. Those memories had a strange quality to them she couldn't quite place, as if they could have likely taken minutes or several days. Six hours seemed like such a random number. Nevertheless, looking at the clock on her phone next to her, the time was indeed six hours after she had been put under. Her siblings would be itching for her return.

Maybe Ignazio's way of being had slipped into her own mind during that session, for she suddenly felt like her previous life and family was on a different plane than her. It was as if her brothers and sister were still at home in Philadelphia with their neglectful mother, while Renley spent her days figuring out a mystery that refused to come to her.

Strangely enough, she accepted it. But not before making herself a promise: she would discover. Her life had been bottled up between becoming a mother to her siblings when no one else would and defending herself against her mother and stepfather. And now she was faced with choices and freedom. Or was it really freedom?

Renley leaned against the window frame in her apartment that night, unable to find the comfort of sleep. She looked at the people bustling about below her, and imagined the lives they might be leading. Stepping into other people's shoes was a daydream habit of hers, for she imagined that everyone had similar or better experiences to her own. Was that red-headed man in a suit rushing through that crowd to get home to his wife, or was he late for yet another meeting? That woman he brushed past, in the future, could that be his wife, taken so suddenly with him that she rushed to follow? The woman did not follow, but Renley imagined a universe where she had. Renley thought the way things happen to people was one of the most interesting subjects. Two words seemed to describe the human nature of relationships: Suddenly, and Eventually. Events inevitably happen at their own pace, such as death or sickness. We can prepare, to an extent, on these things. Sudden events are tests of character and what makes us human.

So what things had been Eventually, and which things had been Suddenly? Renley thought this through. It was only a matter of time before she had to have been released from her abusive situation at home, but the way it had unfolded in that explosion had been sudden. It was a test of her character, but what was she in those moments? A brave mother figure to her young siblings, or a child among them?

 _All humans are children_ , Renley thought bitterly, absently tugging on that necklace that had given her a false sense of hope throughout the years.

The necklace had protected her. It had protected her siblings. _But why?_ She wondered. Renley had always had that necklace, it was supposedly a keepsake from her late biological father, or at least she assumed late. Perhaps he was out there somewhere. Maybe even on the street below her that she watched so intently.

Thoughts of the necklace seemed to come back to her the more she thought of today's events. It had protected her. _Protected her_. The whimsical thought of this necklace being something important beyond her knowledge picked at her, but she brushed it aside quickly, it being too childish to believe. _Then what are you, Renley? Are you a child?_ No.

Renley turned with a huff and collapsed into her bed. Her siblings had fallen asleep hours ago. The warm fabric seemed surreal in a world where she was used to cold and terror within the walls she slept in. She felt uncomfortable in this new environment. Part of her might have longed for that familiar feeling of terror, only to instill a sense of pattern that she had grown so used to. This transition into a new freedom and location brought out the purest form of her, the form that elicited so much pain and confusion that it threatened to break her. Too many questions for a young mind.

Then again, if anything tried to break her, at least she knew the necklace would protect.

The last thought she had before she drifted off to sleep was of Jet, whose eyes held mystery like Jon's, except there was a sense of relatability in Jet that Renley could feel in her gut. An innocent person caught up in something bigger than them...

Eventually, Renley decided she would figure out herself.

Suddenly, she was alone.

* * *

 **AN:** Sorry for the short chapter! Next chapter will make up for it, I promise ;) Please let me know what you think so far! Any and all feedback is much appreciated. Hope you're enjoying it!


	13. ACT 1: Chapter 12 - IGNAZIO

" _You alright, Renley?" A voice sounded inside her head as the memory slowly churned to life. Bright colors unfolded in front of her as she slowly assumed the form of Ignazio once again. She felt tired and unmovable, but she forced herself to try again today. If she didn't make Jon happy or finish his research, she feared the nice apartment back home would be gone._

" _All good. Where am I this time?" She asked._

 _Jon cleared his throat before explaining, "1499. Rome. Ignazio and Ezio had been on and off Assassin partners for awhile, sometimes going off to do their own thing. Remember that Assassins support freedom, and Templars support order. Not exactly the best differentiation I can come up with, but it'll work for you. In this memory, Ignazio is much older along with Ezio, and they're both on a mission to the Sistine Chapel to take back a Piece of Eden. Interestingly, the Subject I mentioned before who could only go through Ezio's timeline did the same, but the memory was much different, Ignazio never showing up once and Ezio being alone. It might be confusing, sorry. I can't really skip to an earlier memory. It's strange though, with Ezio's old timeline erasing Ignazio. It's almost like history erased and rewrote itself inside the Animus... Might have something to do with the dagger coming back... Gah, I'm rambling again. Let's hop to it."_

 _The scene shifted to focus, and the memory began._

* * *

"You two, please be careful."

Leonardo yet again wished them their best on this mission. For the past hour he and Ignazio worked on a few codex pages Ezio managed to find on his travels.

One of the codex pages happened to reveal how to create a hidden blade sleeve, and using each other's inventing knowledge, Leonardo and Ignazio managed to create a hidden blade that could fit Ignazio's dagger and also be taken off easily. It was a last-minute invention, and Leonardo begged for an extra hour to perfect it, but the two had to get going. Ignazio just prayed that the sleeve wouldn't fail him.

"We will, Leonardo," Ignazio began. He stood straighter and looked into Leonardo's eyes, "I just… really want to thank you before we leave. For everything. You gave me a home and education when I needed it. You protected me. For that I owe you my life, and that is what we are working towards: for the freedom and peace this land deserves." He said firmly, placing a hand on his own heart.

"Ignazio… you do not need to thank me. Your time was always meant to come." Leonardo began, but his eyes betrayed an inner worriedness. "I-I mean, you're going to be fine. Before you go, I want you to have this." Leonardo turned to a table and handed Ignazio a sealed envelope.

Instinctively, he went to open it but Leonardo's hand stopped him.

"Not yet. If you succeed, read this letter. If you die, it is of no use to whoever reads it. Only read it if you succeed, remember that. And also… remember that you are like a son to me. Please be careful." Leonardo took him by the shoulders.

"You can count on me." Ignazio smiled, embracing him. Breaking apart, he put the envelope in one of his pouches.

"Be safe, take care of each other."

* * *

"Alright, here's the plan for this..." Ezio whispered closely. The two were hanging off the ledge of the Sistine Chapel's outer walls, above them a weaving network of guards and towers before the actual chapel, where Borgia was. Borgia was the target and the Templar keeper of a Staff of Eden, which they needed to confiscate as soon as possible.

"You take the guards above us, distract them. I will move forward and pick them off when they come running to see what's going on. Meet me within the chapel. Use your dagger for as long as you can, then change it to your sword if you need to. Remember that your dagger needs time to recharge." Ezio whispered, gesturing with his head above.

Ignazio nodded his approval, taking a few more footholds up until he was just below the ledge of the wall. He listened to Ezio moving horizontal to the wall and away. Peeking his head over the wall, he saw a guard come to the ledge.

Easy.

Ignazio unleashed his trusty shape-shifting weapon disguised currently as a golden hidden blade and stabbed the guard in the neck before launching him behind him and into the waters below.

There were approximately four guards on the wall in front of Ignazio, and more down the way and above in the towers. This was it. The first stage of the mission. Anxiousness and excitement bubbled in his stomach, creating a wave of adrenaline.

Using his powerful muscles, he heaved himself over the ledge and into the air, unsheathing _Cambiaforma_ and plunging it into an unsuspecting guards neck. The other guards got their bearings while Ignazio ripped the blade out of the guards' body. A quick counter and kick made one of the guards trip over the edge, and a few quick parries and a swift jab made another fall. The last guard shouted and screamed a warning, before Ignazio lunged forward and sunk the golden blade into his chest.

An arrow almost took his ear off, whizzing past Ignazio's head.

"Time to fly," He whispered, grinning cunningly. He unattached the dagger from its holder and willed it to change into a second dagger. _Cambiaforma_ now took the form of two daggers, identical to each other. Gathering his strength and crouching, he sprung up and released one of the daggers into the air.

With incredible accuracy that Ignazio was known for, the dagger sunk deep into the archer's chest before he could draw another arrow.

Holding one dagger, he knew he wouldn't be able to change weapons again for a minute or two. He was stuck with the dagger, but no matter. He was the most skilled in using just the dagger anyway.

Ignazio scaled the tower where the archer was perched, using the multiple footholds to heave himself up and over. A beautiful sunset/azure sky melted the horizon of the city, casting an amber glow on the citadel and wall in front of him. Below, the wall ran farther before coming to an outdoor pavilion which masked the entrance. Guards were laced among the wall, about twenty or thirty in all.

He began to notice a few guards hearing noises in Ignazio's direction and heading towards him through an adjacent tower. In a flash of movement from the shadows inside the arch of the tower, he saw two of the guards get their brains jabbed in by a pair of hidden blades that undoubtedly belonged to Ezio. Ignazio smirked. He had to catch up if he was to join in the fun.

 _Don't go in the chapel._

A voice. Ignazio turned swiftly around the tower's peak, searching for the bearer, but none was found. Typical...

 _Don't go in the chapel. Pieces of Eden. Danger._ A ghostly, raspy voice spoke in a broken, terrifying tone as shadows among the walls and towers began to warp and distort in his vision.

But Ignazio was used to this.

"Go away. You know nothing, spirit." Ignazio spoke in a controlling, careful tone. He was shaking, though.

 _Chapel. Dead. Eden. No._ Slowly, the voice dissipated as his visions calmed over the next moments.

Ignazio took a shaky, deep breath. He wasn't going to let these voices interrupt the most important mission of his life.

"Alright, we're in." Ezio whispered. The two managed to successfully sneak around the guards, killing when necessary, and weaving in and out of robed officials to blend and make their move to get inside. Finally inside the chapel and away from the guards, the two took a quick breather.

"Ready for this?" Ignazio asked, walking ahead of Ezio through the beautifully painted halls.

"I've been ready for a long time, _cugino_. Let's do this. You know the plan." Ezio smirked, patting Ignazio's shoulder and leading the way.

* * *

Ignazio was perched high above the sermon. The sermon that was being told by none other than Rodrigo Borgia himself to a crowd of fifty listeners. A golden staff was held in the Pope's hand, and immediately Ignazio got a bad vibe from it. It was a Piece of Eden, no doubt. What would it do when exposed to his dagger and Ezio's Apple?

Perched in the rafters behind Rodrigo and to his right was Ignazio, and Ezio was across the way in the shadows, above in the rafters as well. Ignazio, assessing the situation, hand-signaled to Ezio across the room.

" _I will use a smoke bomb. Attack as soon as it's off. I'll distract any opposition._ " Ignazio signaled expertly, flipping a small silver smoke bomb in his hand. Having the dagger made using other weapons and gadgets difficult for some reason, but keeping one extra smoke bomb never seemed to harm the invisible taboo. More than that could cause a bit of a disturbance, however.

Ezio gave a nod of approval and signaled back, " _Ready when you are._ "

The bomb dropped like a torpedo, gaining velocity until it smacked the ground in front of the crowd and Rodrigo. Instantly the area inside the chapel was enveloped in steely gray ash and smoke, the uproars and coughing of the crowd being the only sounds.

Ezio wasted no time. As soon as the bomb flew, Ezio flung himself gracefully below, but Ignazio only saw him break through the smoke wall and then disappear. He wondered if he had gotten Rodrigo when he leapt; only one way to find out. The guards were racing around, trying to find the culprit.

Willing _Cambiaforma_ to change into its twin dagger form, he launched himself off of the scaffolding and into the smoke. Not a smart idea, but Ignazio used his quick thinking and sharp eyes to attach to a target to break the fall.

An unfortunate guard became Ignazio's landing cushion before being stabbed in the back of the head. Ignazio grabbed the one dagger from the guard's head and looked around, squinting his eyes through the haze. He felt a kick to the back of the head before falling forward on his face. He whipped around swiftly and deflected a sword with his dagger just in time from another guard. Ignazio launched out a flying kick right into the guard's stomach, causing him to weaken his stance. This gave Ignazio the perfect timing to jab his left-handed dagger right into the guard's neck and hoist himself up.

Breathing heavily and head pounding, he began to notice the smoke was beginning to clear. Where was Ezio? Or Rodrigo? Two more guards lunged towards Ignazio, causing his thoughts to scatter. His memory served him multiple training sequences that he was taught when fighting two opponents. The first guard came forward with his sword in the air, ready to come down, but Ignazio was quick. He used his shoulder to intercept the body of the guard and performed a quick disarming move. Knowing the dagger would not accept a "foreign" weapon in his hand, he jabbed it clumsily into the falling guard, killing him. The second guard simply tackled Ignazio, taking him by surprise with such an unpredicted move and flinging his daggers feet away from him. They only reappeared when more than ten feet away. No matter, Ignazio used his own guerilla tactics and bit into the man's neck, causing him to scream in agony. Grabbing his dagger just in reach, he plunged it into the guard's gut.

Lifting the guards body off of him, Ignazio noticed it was almost quiet. No, it _was_ silent. Had he defeated them all? He looked around wildly, the smoke completely cleared now. There was nobody there on the podium anymore… except…

Rodrigo Borgia stood, staff in hand, and in front of him was a paralyzed Ezio in some sort of strange trance, floating in the air. He could blink and move slightly, but other than that he couldn't do anything, as if bound by invisible rope.

With horror, Ignazio realized that Borgia had taken Ezio's Apple of Eden and it was placed on his staff, which glowed with a celestial light. Around the chapel, everyone had taken Ezio's example, on the ground out-cold and paralyzed.

"Wha—What are you doing to him?" Ignazio shouted, confused. Borgia looked amused, sticking his nose up triumphantly.

"Ignazio Auditore, I've heard much about you. It seems you have something that could prove very valuable to our movement, and so does your cousin here. However, you seem much less trouble than your accomplice." He grinned maliciously, taking a small dagger and pointing it at Ezio.

"Don't touch him, I swear I'll kill you if you lay a finger on him," Ignazio growled, walking forward slowly. He'd had enough of this. They've gone through too much to have it end like this.

"Such powerful words for such a young man… A young man not meant to have such an artifact in his possession." Borgia raised an eyebrow. Ignazio froze.

"You… what are you talking about?" He quivered. He thought only few people from Italy had heard of his past crime… but Borgia was a Spaniard. There was something odd about his tone, however.

Borgia sighed.

"That dagger you hold is nothing but a curse. It will destroy your mind from the inside out, but with the right tools, can unlock unimaginable secrets... It can bend memories and twist minds as easily as it twists its form... the Ones Who Came Before sought to destroy it, but the two original sinners ruined it all at the right time. We expected you to die slowly with the dagger, but now I know why it took so long... you possess a more powerful memory than others. That's what it feeds off of. We know all about it, Auditore. That dagger was meant for the evil to wield, so what does that make you?" Borgia explained, a cunning and evil smirk painting his face.

Ignazio couldn't breathe. He felt his throat starting to close from an oncoming panic attack. It was several moments before he could take a deep but shaky breath and ask, "Y-you're a liar, I never wanted this! I am not the demon!"

Forever would this dagger be passed down through the lives of civilization. Through Ignazio, through to his son... That is, if he wasn't murdered first. Perhaps he was the demon...

"Impossible," Ignazio whispered. Borgia didn't hear him.

"We were able to recover a piece of an ancient text that explained about a few Pieces of Eden, one of which talked briefly about your dagger, _Cambiaforma_. It is tied with a very binding, very strict, and very dangerous foretelling. We only know part of the logistics, but it details The Ones Who Came Before, who decided it was a failure of an object, for they sealed it within a Temple when the original sinners came along." Borgia explained farther, pacing around the steps while glaring at Ignazio. It seemed he enjoyed portraying his knowledge, albeit in a cruel, cold tone.

Ignazio felt the daggers in his hands turn hotter. Were they… glowing?

"Yes… your daggers sense the Apple and Staff nearby. You're going to come with me. With your idiot of a cousin out of the way, I can finally unlock the passage to Heaven itself…" He drifted off, giving an insane glazed expression.

Ignazio didn't budge. He honestly didn't know what to think about this… it was too much to take in.

"If you don't come with me, he dies a painful death." Rodrigo snarled, putting the dagger to Ezio's throat.

Ezio's eyes were all Ignazio needed to tell him what to do: _Follow him. I will find you._ Ignazio gave Ezio a look of uncertainty and panic.

But he had made his decision.

Borgia looked quite surprised when Ignazio walked slowly forward, making hateful eye contact with him.

"You realize you can't take the dagger. It's impossible. And you need me alive for whatever you want to open, otherwise you'd had done it sooner." Ignazio explained more to himself than anyone else.

"You are smart, I'll give you that. Yes, that's true. After you've lived for your purpose, don't expect to get a heroic death."

With incredible speed, Borgia had lunged forward and grabbed Ignazio by his collar, flinging him around and pressing a silver dagger to the back of his neck. He could have easily whipped around and disarmed him, but he couldn't move his arms. The staff was controlling his body, paralyzing it like Ezio.

"Move, this way... And before we go…" Borgia hissed, before taking a second dagger and plunging it into Ezio's lower back. He fell with a shout of pain and crumpled to the floor.

"Ezio!" Ignazio yelled, his voice cracking, but it was choked out by the Staff's power. He received a swift punch to the back of the head, making him dizzy.

"Move!" Borgia hissed in his ear again, the dagger poised at his neck once more.

Through a secret passage and strange, lit-up hallway was a gigantic cavern, the ceiling high above. This place looked Roman, but… almost out of their time period. It was odd. Below them was a ravine where there were strange glyphs on the solid obsidian walls. A circular slot in the center looked important.

Borgia practically threw Ignazio down the ten-foot tall ravine, making him fall right on his face. Bleeding from the nose and swearing he had a broken wrist now, he sniffed and scrambled to his feet and straightened up, not wanting to show weakness. Borgia came up behind him again, this time putting Ignazio's body in full paralysis.

"Tonight, I will meet God... And the Heavens shall open from above and welcome me," Borgia hissed maniacally under his breath, not paying attention to Ignazio but to a wall in front of him.

"What… are… you…" Ignazio managed to choke out, the staff's power making his throat feel like it was being strangled.

"The passage to Heaven is here, boy. Right here. It needs the Staff and Apple to work, and your dagger will surely provide a greater key…" He almost giggled in satisfaction, rubbing the inscriptions on the wall like a madman.

Borgia slowly began to walk along each of the walls, mumbling insanely under his breath. Was this what happened when exposed to Pieces? Were these Pieces of Eden to blame for Ignazio's madness? Thoughts swam in Ignazio's head as he began to believe his own panic was the thing choking him, not the Staff's power.

"Here. Here is the door." Borgia started tapping on the "door" that was obviously a wall with the Staff/Apple. After several minutes and Ignazio feeling like he was going to pass out, Borgia started shouting and banging his fists against the door.

"Why won't it open? Am I not powerful enough to see you, Lord?!" He snarled.

A figure landed suddenly in front of Ignazio, facing Borgia. The man turned his head and nodded.

Ezio.

His wound was obviously still there, but it looked bandaged; he had probably taken the last of their available medicine.

Borgia turned, stunned.

"You… You're supposed to be dead." He rasped, backing towards the wall.

"I'm done with this. No more weapons," Ezio said, stalking forward and stripping himself of weapons, "No tricks, no theatrics, no Pieces… Just you and I. Let's see how well you fight, old man." Ezio said, voice low and menacing.

Borgia sneered, "Have it your way, Auditore!" Casting the staff away, he lunged at Ezio without warning.

Ignazio couldn't focus anymore. The ground shifted beneath him… The dagger was calling him.

So were the other Pieces…

 _All will be over soon._

A voice rasped quietly.

 _Sleep, child. All will be over soon._

The spell keeping him paralyzed broke, and he sunk to the floor.

* * *

"Ignazio! Ignazio, wake up!" Ignazio heard Ezio's voice and felt hands hoisting him up by the shoulders before he could get his eyes to focus.

Ignazio finally managed to stand and blinked a few times trying to get everything to stay still in his line of vision. But everything _was_ spinning. A ball of light in the center of the room burst from the top of the Staff and Apple, which were now perched in the slot in the floor of the room. Beams of light danced around the inscripted walls, finally landing on a wall across from them. Ezio covered his eyes from the lights, but Ignazio couldn't keep his eyes off of them… so much power… so much ferocity… he thought.

The wall the beams landed on shifted, and slowly the great wall sank to the ground. It _was_ a door! Borgia was right… wait, where was Borgia? Ignazio looked around the now-settled room, Borgia nowhere in sight.

"Where's Borgia?" Ignazio whispered, eyes glazed over at the sight of the door.

"I… I let him go." Ezio exhaled, also not taking his eyes off of the lifted wall that now revealed another strange hallway.

"Wait, what? Why?! He killed our family and almost killed both of us!" Ignazio snapped back into reality, now livid with frustration.

Ezio looked solemn. "Borgia is a terrible man, but he is beyond death. What those Pieces probably did to his mind is more than enough of a revenge. He will crumble slowly." He explained patiently.

Ezio didn't wait for Ignazio's reply, walking towards the open door.

The staff shifted in the ground. The door across the room was starting to close as the staff sank deeper. Rushing forward, Ezio grabbed the staff and pulled up with all his might, keeping the door open.

Before Ezio could struggle anymore, Ignazio helped his cousin in lifting the staff from the floor.

"I'll hold it! Go through the hallway, I got it!" Ignazio shouted, pain shooting up his arms.

"But, Ignazio-" Ezio started.

"No time! GO!" Ignazio waved a hand at the direction of the door.

Ezio nodded respectfully at Ignazio before bounding through the door and into the hallway. Ignazio wondered what was behind the door… If he was quick he could let go of the Staff before the door sank shut, but what then? Was there another way out?

 _Don't go through that door. Your time will come, Ignazio._ The familiar voice of Giovanni, he now recognized, washed over Ignazio's ears. He was nowhere to be seen like usual, but he knew the spirit was there. This time, the voice didn't sound far-off or dark, it sounded like Giovanni himself. It calmed Ignazio, and made him listen.

 _Read the letter when Ezio gets out. Don't let him see it._ Giovanni rasped before his voice drifted off. For once, Ignazio knew he should listen to his hallucinations. Maybe this whole ordeal made them calmer. Ignazio could only hope as his arms began to shake from holding the Staff up. But he could do this. He had to help his cousin first.

Because family always comes first.

* * *

"You're… leaving. Again?" Ezio stopped his horse to look at Ignazio. The ride home was peaceful but uneventful. The sun was beginning to retreat to the horizon, casting a fiery glow on the two men's faces.

Ignazio had just learned some news.

"I read that letter Leonardo gave to me. We technically succeeded, so… L-Look, I can't tell you what it's about exactly, but part of it is about my dagger. How to get rid of it, and how to stop these hallucinations and the whispers." He explained, nervous in breaking the news to Ezio.

"You're leaving everyone behind on another quest?" Ezio looked disappointed, and his words stung fairly harshly.

"Look, I wouldn't be doing this if I knew it wasn't going to benefit my family. If I go to the place this letter describes, the dagger can be sealed from civilization for hundreds of years, protecting numerous lives, including my son. He will be the one to inherit it if I die naturally, and he doesn't possess the memory ability I do. He will perish quickly if that happens." Ignazio allowed worry to creep into his tone as he explained.

Ezio's face ripened with thought as he processed Ignazio's words.

"Where is this place? Is it safe? Can you tell me anything more?" Ezio asked, eyes cold.

"The mountains up North. I'm stopping in Firenze on my way there to buy warmer traveling clothes and gear. The letter details a certain ritual to perform, and it's at a temple nestled in the mountains. I will be back in under three weeks." Ignazio promised.

"What am I going to tell your wife and son when they see me return without you?" Ezio said hollowly. Ignazio noticeably looked pained at the mention, looking off at the horizon and then back to the ground.

Ignazio's voice almost choked up again, "I will be back. You have to tell them I'll be back. I am working to save them," he said firmly before continuing, "One more thing..."

"Hm?"

" _You cannot tell Leonardo about what I am doing._ Is that clear? He must not know. Tell him I'm visiting Firenze on a mission." Ignazio looked straight into Ezio's eyes, unwavering.

"But why?" Ezio pressed, confused. He didn't want to lie to their friend any more than Ignazio did.

"It…. Ugh, there's no use hiding it," Ignazio sighed and pulled out a neatly wrapped bundle of codex pages. "Leonardo has been hiding these particular pages from me for years, and now I know why. I stole them before we left. They complete the prophecy Borgia talked about, and explain the full effects and rituals of the dagger to purge it from existence," Ignazio said, at first guilty and then weirdly excited. "He didn't want me to see them because... they're fairly harsh. I know he thinks of me like a brother, but... I must do this, for the betterment of everyone."

"So, you do this, and that dagger will be safe for the future generations?" Ezio asked, making sure he had it all clear.

"Yes. I just need three weeks. Here, if I am not back in three weeks, _come find me_. Follow the markings, it said." Ignazio handed Ezio a page that when decrypted, stated where the location was and how to get there. It appeared to be nestled in an uncharted mountainous region. Ezio was nervous.

"Don't you need this?" Ezio asked.

"No, _primo_. I know where I'm going." He said sincerely, before tapping his head to remind Ezio of his memory.

Ezio rode his horse closer and grabbed his shoulder. "You be careful. You are not my cousin, you are my brother. Don't let this journey consume you. Come back to your family, come back to Leonardo, and come back to me. You hear?"

Ignazio smiled genuinely, patting Ezio's shoulder. "Yes, my brother. Blood is the strongest force in this world, we cannot forget."

Ezio smiled before pulling his horse to the direction of home, while Ignazio pulled his towards the north.

Ignazio knew what was to come, he was just lucky Ezio had forgotten to ask.

For the betterment of the world, sacrifices had to be made. Being an Assassin meant making these sacrifices in order to fix the wrongs brought upon humanity. Sometimes, the wrongs are in part corruption, greed, and gluttony. Sometimes the wrongs have names, or none at all, they weave and mold their ways into every heart of man.

Sometimes the wrongs can fit inside a pocket.

Sometimes the wrongs are right above the throat and between each ear.

And sometimes the wrongs have yet to come.


	14. ACT 1: Chapter 13 - RENLEY

**AN:** Double upload chapter today! Enjoy!

* * *

 **RENLEY**

* * *

Renley bolted awake, breathing heavily and sweat dripping down her face. Her first reaction was to pull herself upright and thrash slightly, just to see if this was truly reality. Everything around her seemed spotty and darker than before, but she felt hands on her shoulders to hold her down and keep her steady. Slowly, the face of Jon molded into shape before her, his face looking concerned but strangely determined.

"Hush, hush... it's alright, you're okay..." Jon's voice calmed her. She only then realized how badly she was shaking.

"Th-those men... the guards... I killed them. Borgia had a Staff. A Piece of Eden. Ignazio wasn't meant to have the dagger, so why'd he have it... Oh god..." Renley rambled, her voice quivering with emotion and stress from the session. She put a hand up to her sweating forehead.

"Calm down, you're alright. I'm sorry, I should have pulled you out earlier, but you were making such good progress." Jon said in a soothing voice, letting her go and straightening up.

"I-I don't know if I can do this... this isn't even the end, is it?" Renley looked at him, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Damn it all, why couldn't she be stronger about something that already happened? She quickly wiped her eyes and face.

Jon let out an apologetic sigh. "I'm sorry, but if we work on one more session, we should be able to get the rest of this information. I already filled out pages of notes from your findings. Laetitia, the head honcho around here, will be very pleased with your results, trust me. You're a good asset to us, and assets to Abstergo get taken care of very handsomely, don't forget that." He said with utmost certainty in his eyes, like the eyes of a salesman. Maybe that wasn't a good sign.

"I... Thank you. I just... uh..." Renley couldn't seem to find the correct words as her mind darted in and out of her own recent memories and memories of Ignazio. They were molding together, it seemed.

" _Hello, Renley,"_ A raspy voice echoed from the far corner of the room behind a shelf of tech equipment. Renley froze, staring at the form that lingered there, a shadow, and a familiar figure.

Piercing fiery eyes greeted her, but nothing else did. She knew that voice.

" _Hello, Renley. You can help me."_ The voice echoed again. Ignazio Auditore was nothing but a shadow with eyes in that dark corner, and his voice sounded like he was calling from a void.

" _Ezekiel. Brothers. Protect the brother. Their blood will purge it once and for all. Blood before blood! Blood before blood! Don't run! Stay with the brother!"_ Ignazio rasped again, this time sounding scarily desperate as his shadowed form began to flicker and dissipate into the natural shadow of the corner. _Who's Ezekiel, what the fuck am I seeing? Is this real?_ Renley didn't know whether to freak out or try to calm down, stuck in a frozen limbo between the two.

"Renley? You with me?" Jon's voice made her snap into reality as she swerved her head to face him again with wide, terrified eyes. "Did you see something? It's entirely normal if you did."

 _Don't tell him anything..._ An intrusive thought pierced into her skull.

"N-No. I'm just very tired. I should head home." Renley said, yanking out the IV in her arm without so much as a wince. The events within Ignazio's memories had made her so used to pain. Ignazio was one vengeful bastard, that was for sure. His old emotions were starting to flow into her own mind. A little place in her brain, thanks to Ignazio, was starting to associate these "Templars" as the tyrants. Her normal thoughts told her that this could be completely wrong. Ignazio and Ezio were both so headstrong and reckless, was that what they wanted the world to be like too? Chaotic and without any type of order?

It was all too much.

"You should rest, that's a great idea. Will you be able to join me again tomorrow? I'll let you sleep in; I think you deserve that. Meet me here at noon." Jon said. It was weird how he asked her if she was able to join and then just assumed she'd say yes. That made it so much easier for her to agree, he guessed.

"I think I need a day off-"

"One more day, Renley. _One_ more day, come on." Jon seemed to plead this time. A concerning glint was in his eyes, almost snake-like.

"Alright. One more session." Renley found herself saying. She felt sick to her damn stomach over it. If this was the end of Ignazio, she could only imagine the terrible memory within. However, deep down, there was an abundance of curiosity over this predicament she had discovered. Pieces were slowly falling into place in her own current memories as she left for the night to rest. Tomorrow was the final memory... and she'd never felt more unprepared in her life.

Just as she drifted back to sleep in her safe little bed, she suddenly remembered that lapel that Jon was wearing, and now part of her ignorance faded in a sudden swipe.

The Templar cross.

" _Go to the brother... Before it's too late..."_ The voice of Ignazio rasped before everything turned silent once more.


	15. ACT 1: Chapter 14 - IGNAZIO

**IGNAZIO**

* * *

The Temple stood in the sea of billowing jade green grass, its overgrown façade glimmering a golden sheen in the setting sun's light. Ignazio found this array strange for any monolith so far into the Alps, for his trek here had been cold and unforgiving. This plot of land that held the Temple he sought after was comparable to a garden of Eden, a time capsule stopped in a period of summer. Flowers of every perceivable color bloomed as Ignazio waded through the meadow, fingers outstretched to brush against the soft foliage. The howling wind from the mountains above died down to a soft breeze that seemed to echo lost whispers.

Vines started to choke the old Temple's columns, its once-vibrant dark slate now a pale washed gray beneath the ivy. Ignazio's worn leather boots softly ascended the marble stairs as he approached the large stone door that seemed to be already cracked open, as if someone had been inviting him inside.

The door opened farther on its ancient hinges as Ignazio was greeted by a sunlit cavern within. A domed roof dominated the infrastructure, depicting softly-colored scenes of peace, unity, and triumph amongst a wide range of characters. Stained glass ringed the edges of the dome, and allowed for a lot of clear light to pass through. The colors above with the setting sun's light made the white marble floor beneath Ignazio glimmer with color at random spots.

This Temple seemed barren, from the looks of it. The floors and walls were made of white marble, and thick columns ringed the outside of the space. There was nothing in this open area, save for a short double-sided staircase at the far end that led to another back room at the top balcony, it seemed. Ignazio, taking a deep breath, made for the staircase, his light boots making an echo at every step even though his tread was careful. The stairs, even after all the years it must have stood in these mountains, were sturdy and surprisingly free of cracks and debris. In fact, much of the Temple seemed fairly clean for being so desolate, making the very air itself have an aura of something unearthly.

The archway at the top of the stairs led to a rather small back room, flanked on each side by much smaller pillars than the ones ringing the inner Temple behind Ignazio. The back of the wall had a large square carving on it, as if it was some sort of strange door with no handle to open it. The whole back room seemed to serve no purpose, except for a small stone table in front of the back wall that was perhaps used for some offering ritual. Ignazio paced the back room for awhile, feeling the smooth marble pillars and strange carvings on each wall, before something caught his eye on the right-facing wall.

A keyhole! Well, a small one, it seemed. It was ringed with a circular pattern, and only allowed for a key that was both completely smooth and vertically-shaped, nothing circular. Ignazio tried to pry a finger into it, before taking out Shapeshifter and trying the dagger. He just wanted to see how deep the hole went in order to confirm it was indeed a keyhole of sorts.

To Ignazio's surprise, the shape-shifting dagger seemed to hum in his hands as it had never done before. Maybe it was a trick of the dim light in the room, but its golden sheen seemed brighter too. No matter, Ignazio thought, he had to see what this slot did. There could be treasure within this Temple, and Ignazio was a damn good lockpick.

" _Don't. Don't do it."_ A voice at the back of Ignazio's skull made him hesitate his approach to the slot again. Voices... just voices. Nothing real, he reminded himself. He had grown used to the subtle insanity the dagger made him succumb to.

" _By ridding the dagger you're dooming the world. The dagger could prevent a war!"_ The voice seemed louder, and now it sounded distinctly female. And rather angry.

"This dagger is a curse of the Ones Who Came Before," Ignazio growled under his breath, unsure if the voice could even listen. "I will rid of it and there will be no more suffering."

" _It may turn innocent people to insanity for those who do not have the power to wield it, but you are forgetting about the evil in the world that might possess the weapon. Do they not deserve death? The evil and unjust?"_ Ignazio was surprised when the voice retorted so... eloquently. His own voices had never sounded like that.

Ignazio sat down, sighing deeply, staring at the slot in the wall. "What would I do, then, oh great voice? Head back home and die peacefully while my son inherits the dagger and dies because of me?"

" _Better your son take the sacrifice. I have seen the paths ahead, and they all point to doom. That dagger was a mistake that we- or, the First Ones made. An error, if you will. It was never supposed to have the qualities it does. However, it still serves a purpose... you must listen to me!"_ The female voice was beginning to sound desperate... in a very bad way. Ignazio had a lot to consider here. What if the voice was one of the First Civilization? It wouldn't be unheard of; this was one of their Temples according to the codex pages.

Ignazio thought on this. He would be ridding the world of an artifact that wasn't even meant to be created... but at the cost of the weapon not being around to destroy the evil that might possess it in the future. It was, of course, an artifact that would be sought after by Templars and Assassins alike, both good and bad people. And to know that if he died naturally his son would have to live with it...

"I can't. This weapon, like you say, wasn't meant to be created." Ignazio spoke aloud, before taking Shapeshifter and sliding it into the slot. To his surprise, nothing was heard at first, even from the voice, which seemed to disappear.

After a moment or two, the back wall seemed to click, before the square encryption moved forwards and then to the side like a door, revealing a brightly-lit portal. Ignazio shielded his eyes from the bright blue light, walking forward and abandoning his dagger in the keyhole. The light subsided after a few seconds as Ignazio scooted his way around the small offering table to a small platform where the wall used to be, where a small white shelf held something round and golden.

"An Apple..." Ignazio breathed, his hands hovering over the object, poised to take it and be off. His fingers tingled with the prospect of holding such an artifact...

" _No, no, NO! There's still time! Get rid of the dagger! Get RID OF THE DAGGER!"_ Another voice screeched in Ignazio's ears, and he recoiled as the Apple glowed with each syllable of the voice's snarl. This voice was also female, except... different.

The prospect of destroying the dagger suddenly seemed like a very wise decision... The Apple was now pulsing with energy, swirling around Ignazio with golden tendrils.

" _Destroy it. Destroy it."_ The voice chanted.

In a single lunge, Ignazio made a break for the dagger in the slot, immediately ripping it out of the socket in a frenzy. The door to the Apple remained open as Ignazio stared at the object, waiting for the voice again. Oh, how suddenly he wanted to follow the orders... He wanted to apologize for making such a stupid decision. The dagger should rightfully be destroyed, yes.

" _There is a ritual you must perform. It requires your blood and flesh. Take your hand and place it on the stone table."_ The voice commanded.

Ignazio seemed to hesitate towards the table, but after the Apple pulsed a golden shine once more, he found himself on his knees with his left hand on the table. He knew what had to be done next.

Taking the golden dagger, which now seemed to pulse with a golden energy along with the Apple, Ignazio brought down the blade with utmost courage, severing right down into bone in his wrist. He howled and screamed, sheer pain rocketing up his entire arm and into the left side of his chest as his nerves seemed to ignite. What strength that might've required before seemed easy now, and Ignazio had a feeling that the Apple had helped him sever the rest of his hand. Throughout the entire process, Ignazio felt... brave. He felt heroic and good. He was doing a service, after all.

His hand, now lacking an owner, soon lay idle on the table as Ignazio placed Shapeshifter in the severed hands' deathly grasp. It was what felt right, after all.

A ferocious bang was suddenly heard, and all Ignazio saw was the Apple letting out a brilliant beam of white light as he was blown back out of the room, tumbling ten feet down off of the back of the staircase and to the floor below in the main cavern. Ignazio heard a deep rumble as he struggled to get up, and the last he saw of the door above was nothing but a solid sheet of stone now, as if nothing had even been there in the first place.

Blood oozed from his hand as he stripped one of his jackets off to wrap the wound in, keeping his arm tucked close to his body. There was an emptiness within the Temple now, and in himself.

"Where... where is it..." Ignazio breathed, feeling to see if his dagger had returned to him like it always would. It did not. Suddenly, he felt terrible. Evil. Pathetic.

"No... no... NO! I need the dagger!" He started to shout, limping his way back up the steps where the archway to the Apple lay only minutes before. He was only greeted by the cold silver stone that sealed this terrible pact. Every fiber of his being became obsessed with getting that dagger back. It was horrible, wrenching pain that formed ice in his heart and fury in his brain so great he wanted to reach up to the heavens and banish everything he had once stood for. Ignazio wanted to vomit knowing that his prized possession was gone and unreachable. It was disgusting. "NO! NO! YOU LIED TO ME!" He howled, banging and clawing on the stone like the beast he had most certainly become.

No voice was heard. In fact, nothing was heard, not even the soft breeze from outside. Silence was the only noise. Once upon a time, Ignazio would have longed for such a noise. Ignazio broke down in front of that stone blockage, frustrated and exasperated beyond any recognition he had ever felt. He would have even been fine with the idea of his son dying if he could just have the dagger back... The dagger was his God and his son could be his Isaac. Why did he have to go through with this? He would kill and rip through his own family and blood if it meant having the dagger again. It was _his_ weapon and his weapon alone.

Ignazio screamed and howled. "No... No... NO!"


	16. ACT 1: Chapter 15 - JON

**JON**

* * *

Jon Connington watched from the monitoring station at screens displaying what Renley was seeing. For someone so new to the Animus she was doing well. Most people require much more time before they can spend day-long sessions so comfortably. He remembered his own experience in the Animus reliving one of his own ancestors, a member of Charlemagne's court named Bernardus. He fought Danish raiders alongside the famous Frankish conqueror and nearly threw up all over the Animus at the bloodshed. It was so real, so life-like, and reminded him of his time in Iraq years ago. _We have advanced far beyond sword and shield yet warfare remains just as brutal,_ he thought. _Man's unchanging way_ s. But Renley was a natural at the Animus; she instantly grasped the technology and seemed to shift in and out naturally. _It must be her blood,_ he realized a few days into the experiments. But when she found this temple, that sweetened the deal. He had recorded everything in the temple, everything her ancestor had experienced. _This is going straight to Laetitia_. Unfortunately, she was keeping her First Civilization shard very close to her. Twice he had tried to take it and twice he had failed to.

He exited the monitoring station and stepped stealthily towards the prone Renley lying in the Animus as if she would hear him. She couldn't, but something compelled him to go over to her.

He leaned over her. She was wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. Abstergo had given her an allowance, what they called a "subject support fund", that would have let anyone shop from the nicest places in Manhattan, but she and her siblings saved her allowance, buying from cheaper stores or thrift shops. _Smart girl_. He could see the thin black cord outlined against her neck, feel the heat of the Animus on his hand as he reached forward to grab it. _Just a little tug,_ he thought. He wrapped his hand around the cord, large square fingers taut and ready to work. His hand felt cool against her neck but he quickly pulled it off with a soft snap.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp alarm chirp from the Animus, signalling desynchronization, and he found himself holding the broken necklace that held the shard and staring into disturbed, bright eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" She snapped, bolting upright. Jon tried to remember if mood swings were common side effects to Animus work. "Huh? What are you doing?" She looked frazzled, a bit shell-shocked even, being fresh from the traumatic final parts of the session.

Jon stepped back, but Renley stood and quickly closed the gap, eyes glaring like a predator ready to pounce. She lunged at Jon, her hands reaching towards the shard clasped tight in Jon's hand. The needle plunged into her wrist shot out of her, lightly splattering blood onto the Animus and the floor. She was strong, and knew exactly how to throw her weight. _The goddamn bleeding effect,_ he realized as he narrowly avoided a swipe at his head. The "bleeding effect" was what happened to Animus subjects when they spent time in the Animus: they started to gain the strengths and skill of their ancestors, like fighting skill. She positioned herself to keep him from getting up, which made him frustrated given his high status.

"Give it back! Give it back!" She screamed, her face red. He couldn't hit back, but if he laid here she would kill him.

"Okay! Okay!" he yelled. He opened his hand and she quickly snatched the shard from his open palm, getting off him and backing away from him, her body language saying she was ready to pounce again at a moment's notice. She was breathing heavily, hair stuck up in odd angles. Suddenly, he felt a bit bad for her. She just looked scared.

"So you wanna tell me why you're stealing my necklace?" Renley snapped, standing up a bit straighter now that she won. "What the fuck do you want?" Jon caught his breath.

Everything hinged on these next few moments.

"Renley," he started, his breathing ragged. "There are...dangerous people out there. Dangerous people who want you. I'm….I'm trying to protect you from those people," He gave her a long, knowing look. _So far so good_. "People like Jet."

She frowned. An awkward silence hung over the two and Jon picked himself up, using the abandoned Animus as a way to lift himself.

"You mean Jet is looking for me?" Renley asked. _I can't tell her everything,_ he thought. Jon was quiet and bit his lip.

"It's likely," Jon replied ominously. She frowned again and looked away.

Renley's eyes went wide, and Jon's heart sank a bit as he knew which pieces she was probably fitting together in that busy head of hers.

"But...is Jet an assassin?" She asked a bit more quietly now, the tension between them threatening to fire sparks. She must've remembered Jet's Assassin necklace and affiliated it with Ignazio. "Are you a….a Templar?"

Jon was silent. _Everything I've worked for, everything that's happened_.

"You have to understand, the Assassins want complete anarchy," he started. _Think, Connington, think_. He paused. "You survived largely on food stamps, you told me that." She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk. "Well in the Assassins' world, those food stamps and free clinics wouldn't exist. You'd be left high and dry. Ignazio and Ezio and Alta **ï** r... they were all wrong." He paused again as he watched her slowly start to understand what he was saying, but her gaze seemed to neither accept nor detest it. "But the Templars….the Templars want to help you. They're the ones who have been supporting you, who are getting your siblings some of the best tutors in New York, and who have been paying the rent on that Midtown condominium you live in. The Templars want to help people, to offer support structures for... for everyone regardless of race or religion or socio-economical status." Her face was blank and she looked numb. The only real movement was her breathing and her hand slowly rubbing the shard in her hand.

"That necklace….it's going to draw the Assassins to you and even some of the more... more megalomaniacal Templars," Jon continued. A part of him just wanted to coerce her into getting back into the Animus and helping the Templars investigate Ignazio's past more. But another part of him, perhaps the father that never was, truly cared for her. "I wanted to protect it. To keep it from Jet and the Assassins and anyone else who would take it from you. Because those people that want that Shard don't care about your safety…..but I do."

She sighed and shook her head, looking away.

"I'm sorry...I need to go home, I'm... I'm tired of this. I need to think. Besides, the tutor should be gone and I feel like I haven't seen my family in a while," she said quickly, not making eye contact with him.

"Renley..." Jon reached a hand out to grab her shoulder. "Renley, come on, I-"

She swiped her hand towards, him, his hand suddenly hitting a faint golden field that had appeared in front of her, shocking his hand slightly. He recoiled, noting the effects of the Shard quickly in his head.

"Don't you dare touch me. Let me go home." Renley spoke firmly, the golden shield disappearing quickly.

"Why don't you go home, then. We'll pick this up later." He gave in, looking away and rubbing his hand.

But by the time he finished speaking, she was gone. Jon sighed, massaged the bridge of his nose and stepped out of the Animus lab. He used the bathroom and bought a bag of pretzels from a vending machine down the hall before returning to the monitoring station. He cleaned up the Animus lab and sat down at the monitoring station where he opened the snack, mind reeling about what had happened. He sent the Animus recording to his superiors and saved a copy for himself before accessing the other Renley cameras. There was a camera outside her condominium door, her living room and a hallway. They had insisted there were more, ones in her bedroom and bathroom, but Jon had to draw a line somewhere with them. That would just be taking it too far.

She finally arrived, and after a few minutes of talking with her siblings and persuading them to bed, she tidied up the living room, stopping occasionally to change the song on her phone. Eventually she disappeared in a camera's blind spot but he still heard her moving around. He looked away, focusing on some papers in front of him until he saw a dark shadow move across the camera. A human hand closed around the lens, and the feed stopped.

Static.


	17. ACT 1: Chapter 16 - JET

**JET**

* * *

In Manhattan, the streets above teemed with life as the morning began; businessmen and women off to their normal jobs and younger teens and kids off to school or off to skip it entirely. Below the streets, a similar grind was heard, but in a much more... colorful tone.

"C'mon you fuckers, put your whole weight through the punch! TRAVIS! Don't pussyfoot around this shit, you think a Templar is going to throw a punch like that? Man up, let's go!" Jet yelled, his voice commanding and powerful as he addressed the groups of recruits who were sparring each other, only allowed to use punches as per the exercise. It was morning, but they were already getting their daily beating of sweat, blood, and for those emotionally unstable ones, tears. Jet didn't care, he saw all of that as progress. Well, minus the tears, maybe.

"You! You're not pulling your elbow back far enough. That throw will have more power with your build if you take the time to wind up a bit more, but watch your projection." Jet pointed at one of the recruits, who nodded at him, accepting the mistake and learning from it.

Jet took pride in the fact that many recruits didn't dare test him, because it always ended with them on their ass and Jet holding a public lesson in respect. When a new recruit arrived, word traveled quickly to them that Jet wasn't one to test, but sometimes, Jet would take quite a bit of joy in experiencing a rowdy recruit. He found it amusing, as a matter of fact. He could be a little harsh, but hey, the Mentors had recognized the Manhattan den as the main training center for new recruits with Jet in charge.

Jet heard the gym doors behind him open as Mason's rugged mug peered from the lounge."Mister Hitler, sir? Excuse me, Mein F **ü** hrer... Lord Adam wants to see you."

A few of the recruits stopped and snickered; they all thought Mason's antics against Jet were hilarious, but Jet was visibly prickling with annoyance at his cousin's disturbance.

"Can Adam wait two goddamn minutes? I'm in the middle of trai-"

"It's about Renley." Mason interjected quickly, his gaze steely and more serious than his normal cheeky smirk.

Jet turned back to the recruits, who either kept sparring as to not tip off Jet, and some tilted their heads at him questioningly. "Alright, everyone drop what you're doing!" He called out, and the recruits who were busy stopped and looked at him. "Five miles. Up the tunnel and down 23rd until you hit the river and back. Don't think I won't be timing you, and don't think I won't know if you're fucking slacking up there. Give it your all, because cardio is the most important thing you'll train." He barked, before pointing to the other side of the gym where another door led to the staircase upwards to the street. The recruits bolted for it in unison, and Jet turned back to Mason.

"Adam said it was important," Mason explained as Jet came through the gym door and into the lounge. "Sorry to interrupt your rather colorful training regime."

"It's whatever. This whole thing with Renley has been irritating me, especially when I know the Templars are involved. Come on, you'll want to listen into this too." He shouldered past Mason, leading the way to the halls that led to the different rooms.

"You and your vendetta against Templars..." Mason breathed with a smirk as he pushed his hair back.

The den had four halls where the bedrooms were laid out in a simple cross. The ends of the cross led to sealed metal doors that were on a 24 hour alarm and armed guard, and each end led either to an entrance/exit to the den or to the Broken Tunnels, the ruins of the old den. The usable rooms were labeled alphabetically, but the rooms for Mentors and other higher-ranks were the ones labeled A-D. Jet's room was A, of course, and Adam took residence in B for the time being. He usually spent much of his time in the British dens, but New York City always was bustling with activity, and he was needed here especially after the attack in Philadelphia.

Heading inside, Jet found the tech junkie slumped over his keyboard at the triple monitors, clicking away at something incomprehensible in this darkness.

"Hey bud, have you uh... slept _at all?_ " Jet raised an eyebrow, sitting down next to him. He got his answer immediately when Adam faced him with bags under both bloodshot eyes, while one of them twitched involuntarily. "You uh... you know it's 9am the next day, ri-"

"Oh, shush, Jet. I don't need your badgering right now. I was able to hack back into the Abstergo database, even past that encryption from before. There's a ton of info on Renley now..." Adam explained, before pulling up her file.

"Yep, that's her." Jet said as her profile popped up, her picture the same as the girl who had randomly attempted to assault him in Philadelphia.

"My fears were right about her, she's being used as a subject," Adam spoke again with little hesitation. Adam always did enjoy skipping straight to the point. "Most importantly, her blood shares the same blood as Ignazio Auditore."

Now _that_ struck a chord for Jet. Ignazio Auditore was the reason that he was a Subject four years ago at Abstergo. Subject 21, in fact. He had that official name and everything... until he was broken out in one of the biggest upsets in the history of heists by the Assassins. He thought they had already gotten everything they wanted from Ignazio's memories through Jet, but now this became more interesting. What did Renley have that Jet didn't?

"Wait a second... I... I remember..." Jet stopped, his mind grasping at old memories of his mostly-hazy stay at those labs. "There were whispers of encrypted memories, or memories they couldn't access with my blood. At least, I think that's what I remember... God, I don't know, I'm grasping at straws here." He exhaled, trying to think more on the issue.

"That's exactly what I was about to explain: I think Renley's bloodline is more pure, if I'm judging by the fact she's gone through almost the same amount of memories you had, but in a much shorter span. Not to say she's stronger than you, but er... She can handle the Animus damn well, apparently." Adam explained.

"That's bad news. This means Abstergo is still searching for something, probably important." Mason added in his own input, assessing the situation.

"But they already _know_ I have Shapeshifter. What else do they want?" Jet sounded exasperated, staring off at a point in space.

"Hang on, it gets more interesting," Adam broke up their cluttered thoughts. "They're said to be holed up in a hotel near Abstergo, and there's light surveillance reports of her home."

"Wow, they can't even trust a teen girl these days, can they?" Jet snorted. He hated the way the Templars always had to control people through fear of surveillance. "Didn't know the Templars were fuckin' commies."

Adam ignored Jet's little outburst and continued. "It's also interesting to note there's three children there, too... I think they're her siblings. The recent reports started last night at 10pm, which was subsequently just after Renley's last Animus session, until an hour after, the last report recorded was simply 'SUBJECT VOID'."

Jet and Mason exchanged a look.

"She left, boys. And you two are going to find her."

* * *

"This is absolute bullshit. What kind of idiot escapes a Templar-infested home with three young kids just to wander the fuck around Manhattan?" The bitter Assassin grumbled as Mason completely zoned him out, looking around like a child. He was always good at that.

The sun shone over Manhattan, its white-yellow glow casting a friendly tinge on the different buildings and trees it rose over as noon rolled around. The vibrancy of a city on a sunny day was uncontested; it laced the air with a sense of motivation and cheeriness that could motivate even the most lost of souls. Well, and then there was Jet.

"Quit your crying, they should be nearby. Let's check the park." Mason suggested, finally turning his gaze to his cousin.

"Sure, fine." Jet sighed, going with whatever he wanted. Less of an issue to argue with someone like Mason.

The park was a hotspot at this point in the day for runners, families, and homeless of all shapes and sizes as the two searched around for a brown-haired girl that could look like any of these people, except the fact she had three siblings with her. _Well, isn't that just dandy, there's so many families here..._

Mason was being more keen about looking closely at different people, while Jet was more concerned with facial features and whatever was buzzing on his mind. Right now, it was the growing anxiety of finding Renley.

Jet was getting impatient. He was _always_ impatient. It was a bit strange to Mason sometimes, because it was like Jet was waiting for something to happen at all times. Jet really wasn't, he just hated waiting. Waiting meant that his mind would take up more residence.

He started to grumble loudly, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. "This park is huge, how are we supposed to-"

"Found 'em." Mason quipped, pointing.

The girl seemed just as short as Jet remembered, and he recognized the little brother immediately as well, but not the two other siblings. Big family. They looked confused, and it also looked like Renley was searching for something, turning her head to every rock and bush and looking inside them or around them, her siblings following her lead excitedly. What was she looking for?

Jet admitted to himself he was a bit peeved Mason was so quick to find Renley, but he pushed the subtle jealousy aside as Mason was the first to go towards the girl, but Jet thrust him back with a hand on his shoulder.

"Not now!" He hissed to his cousin, "She doesn't trust me in the fucking slightest."

Mason turned to him, rolling his eyes. "She'll be more willing to trust you, believe it or not, _because_ of the fact she knows you. We also kind of need her, y'know."

Hm. Had a point. Jet sighed, letting his hand fall from Mason's shoulder. Better get this over with, and not startle her. That'd prove difficult, especially with so many people bustling about in the forested park within the city.

Before they could approach her, the girl had already turned around, her eyes scanning behind her family. Her eyes immediately locked with his. God _dammit_ , he hated having such distinctive eyes. Anyone could pick him out.

Renley glared, her eyes narrowing, but to Jet's surprise, she didn't run and instead ushered her siblings back to where Jet was. She stomped over, and Jet noticed Mason's shoulders tense.

"Thought ya saw the last of me, eh?" Jet smirked, holding out his arms to greet her with an aura of arrogance.

Renley's lips pulled back in a snarl as Jet noticed her fists curl at the last seconds she got near him, but he didn't falter his cavalier stance in the slightest. Mason simply let her pass, knowing all too well what she was about to do and that Jet knew.

Yep. Punch, one straight to the face. Jet's hand flicked down and grabbed her wrist, fingers squeezing the delicate pressure point between the wrist bone and palm before she could touch him. Her fist was forced open due to the pressure point, and she lashed with another fist, only to be held back by Jet's other hand. He raised an eyebrow, showing no sign of struggle, not even a flinch.

"You done, Renley?" He asked calmly.

She looked both surprised and bitter, eyes narrowed into tiny slits. "Let me go, Jet." Renley spat through her clenched teeth.

Jet sighed, releasing her and letting her back up slightly. She rubbed her hands and wrists, giving a quick glance back at her siblings to make sure they were all there. The smallest girl clung to Renley's leg and looked up at her with a sad expression that the two other kids shared. Jack, the oldest boy that had trouble shutting up last time Jet met him, was the first to intervene.

"No fighting, you two!" He shouted, getting between them, before finally noticing who Renley was so upset about. Jet stared at him before giving him a tiny smirk.

"'Sup, kid." He winked.

"Hey! You're... you're the guy! Renley, it's him! Hey, what are you doing here?" Jack smiled widely, probably forgetting that Jet was framed as a terrorist just a few days prior. The boy turned back to his older sister, whose gaze didn't leave Jet's.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Jet quipped, hating it when people stared at him. "Now, just what are you all doing out here? Could do without the violence this time, by the way. Think of the children!" He raised his arms out in over-exaggerated anguish.

"Shut up. I was..." She finally averted her gaze, shoulders slumping back to a more calm yet anxious position. "Looking for you, actually."

Mason finally broke into the conversation, breaking his sentinel service to join this fun. "I agree, leaving a heavily guarded Templar hidey-hole to search for one guy in a city of millions with a chance of almost zero percent _is_ the best idea!" He laughed and crossed his arms.

"I wasn't looking _just_ for him! I meant that I was looking for..." She stepped forward towards Jet so that her siblings couldn't hear, "I know what you are, Jet. And you're going to tell me everything." She said in a low tone.

"Hey! I wanna know!" Jack protested, before Theo grabbed his hand and pulled him back lightly. He still never spoke a word.

"Not now, Jack." Renley said quickly, stepping back.

Mason and Jet exchanged a look, but Mason was the first to speak. "You were at Abstergo, right? What'd they do to you?" Mason had a knack for speaking softly to others when it was needed. Jet wished he had this quality, because his voice almost always came out aggressive in some manner. Not good for easing the nerves of a lost girl and her family.

Renley shuffled her feet for a second. "Yeah. They... well, after the attack, Jon took me in. He gave us food, shelter... everything, all under the premise I would help him out with his work at Abstergo. They needed someone to test out an Animus prototype-"

"Jon did fucking _what_?" Jet suddenly interjected, sounding rather infuriated. Something protective flickered in him too. Jet immediately recoiled and almost slapped himself when the children looked at him in surprise at his cursing.

Mason held up a hand to silence Jet, and Renley looked a bit taken aback before continuing.

"It's fine, Jet... I'm alright. Jon wouldn't explain anything to me, but I think he just wanted to protect me, which is why I feel guilty for leaving. But still, there's something very, _very_ big going on here, and I'm not about to get caught up in it. I came here to you for answers, because Jon ain't gonna give 'em to me." She looked up at him, her eyes no longer full of aggression, but full of pure, untouched confusion.

Jet knew her place at one time.

"You're right, you don't want to get caught up in all of this. Not with a family." Mason acknowledged, nodding towards the kids and giving them a small reassuring smile. Despite his hulky exterior, Mason was a softie around kids, something Jet wasn't.

"Still, the knowledge you already have is dangerous, and if you've been in the Animus at Abstergo, that can only mean that Jon knew you had some sort of connection to the First Civilization." Jet said.

"First Civilization... Jon touched on it before, but I didn't understand." Renley cocked her head to the side.

Jet sighed roughly. "Look, there's a shit-ton to explain. Mason, we should go somewhere more secluded." He looked at his cousin, who was caught up making silly faces at the now-laughing kids. "MASON!"

Mason snapped his head up, tongue still out. "Hm? Oh!" He straightened himself up before giving a big grin. "Yeah, yeah! A lot of space and privacy in the den!"

"No, Mason, we can't do that, I meant take her to-"

"A den? What's a den? Like a secret lair? You guys have a secret lair?" Jack piped up, eyes wide in excitement.

Renley looked unfazed. "That's what I was looking for around here. I knew there had to be some sort of gathering in New York."

"Well yeah. We're like, somewhere tha-" Mason began to point towards a distant rock formation, but Jet slapped his arm down.

"Shut up! Oh my god, you wanna announce it to the entire fucking park?" Jet snarled, this time actually hitting himself in the forehead when he realized he cursed in front of small children again. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry." He mumbled to the kids, who just stared at him confusedly.

"They've heard it all." Renley said flatly, before looking back at Mason, unamused.

"Jet, they _have_ to go to the den. Jon's probably already setting up the area with eyes and bloodhounds, not to mention higher-up Templars. Even if Jon does care about her, many Templars won't. It's the safest option." Mason whispered quickly to Jet, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"We can't have such small children running around an Assassin den." Jet hissed back quickly.

"They'll be fine. I was only a kid too when I was brought into this life, and besides, I can handle them. Renley's going to need your attention the most." Mason replied softly.

"Why do you say that?"

"She knows too much. She's too involved... and we need to figure out why." Mason's voice sounded heavy, like he felt genuinely bad for her. Jet did too, but he kept it hidden better. Nobody should want this life, after all.

"You're right..." Jet sighed, before looking up at Renley, who was waiting with arms crossed. "You can come with us. Mason will help you out with rooms and stuff, but I'm being very serious: You cannot speak of this den to anyone." Jet made that very clear, especially to the children. Small kids always had a knack for accidentally running their mouths, and he really didn't trust the mouth on Jack out of all of them.

"I understand. They know to keep a secret, it'll be okay. We'll follow your lead." Renley nodded at Jet and Mason.

Without warning, the smallest boy, Theo, suddenly ran forward and clung himself to Jet's leg. He didn't say a word, just clung and looked up at him with a cute grin, his baby teeth in the front missing.

Jet blushed as Mason started to chuckle. "Hey, hey, get off me..." Jet tried to say gently, not sure how to speak to children as he awkwardly shuffled his grabbed foot.

"Theo, let go, come on." Renley said flatly, kneeling down to gently grab the boy and pry him off of Jet's leg.

Just as Renley managed to get Theo off, Leila had done the same thing to Mason, except Mason laughed and gently picked the girl up. Renley looked shocked, but then immediately relaxed. It was obvious that Renley trusted the more compassionate Assassin more than Jet. Not that Jet could blame her.

"Come on, we're going..." Mason lowered his voice to an over-dramatic whisper for the kids, "To our super secret spy headquarters..."

The kids all let out small squeals of excitement before following Mason closely, but that Theo kid, even as he held hands with his sister, made frequent glances back at Jet, smiling at him with that toothless grin.

Jet didn't know what to do other than smile back as a pang of heartache hit him. When he was Theo's age, Jet's life was also being turned on its head. Theo's innocent smiles were what hurt him the most. Suddenly, something very protective came over him, but he refused to show it, instead refusing to make eye contact with the kid as they approached a large rock formation, common in the park.

"There's people around," Jet warned, trying not to look suspicious by looking around wildly, and instead kept his gaze forward as Mason approached the bottom of the rocks.

"So they'll tell their friends once and forget about it. Whatever. Let's be fast though." Mason shrugged a shoulder, kneeling down between a pair of large boulders, and shuffling through a patch of dead leaves before he began digging. A few inches later, he hit a small metal box that flipped open to reveal a small dirty interface that held a small circular compartment. Mason quickly stuck his index finger in, before the tiny red light in the corner of the box flashed green. The boulder on the left shook slightly, not enough to cause a considerable rumble as it quivered slightly. Mason buried the box again as Jet served as the guard, tapping Renley on the shoulder before engaging in light, casual conversation about the weather. Much less suspicious if they looked like they were just lounging and talking here while Mason did his work.

Mason lifted the boulder without much effort, much of its weight being forced up by a pair of metal bars that slid out of metal compartments. Under the boulder was what appeared to be a rusty metal tube. The sunlight coming through the party revealed that a skinny ladder began its rungs about half a foot down.

"Let the kids in first so they're out of sight, then we'll go. Nothing will happen to them or you, but I'll still ask you to trust me. Can you?" Mason spoke to Renley, giving her a straight gaze that revealed nothing suspicious. It took her awhile to nod, but she finally did, picking up Leila.

"You might have to carry Theo," She said to Mason. The small boy might slip on those rungs, she was right.

Mason nodded as Renley did a quick look around before ducking under the boulder, tentatively reaching a sneakered foot out to connect with the second rung, before descending slowly down with Leila clinging tightly to her neck. Jack went after her, and Jet realized even he was quiet with anxiousness about going down this hole. Jet could understand though, it wasn't every day you're lifting boulders and going down secret ladders leading to god-knows-what.

Theo rocked back and forth on his feet, still looking up at Jet with those big blue eyes.

"Pretty sure he wants you to carry him down," Mason smirked. He knew all too well how little experience Jet had with children, and it amused him. Of course it did. Mason loved joking about Jet with things like this, mainly because Jet always portrayed himself as an aggressive, uptight guy.

"You can't take him?" Jet murmured at him, eyes looking desperate as he realized he didn't even know the proper way to hold a child.

"Not gonna leave the front door open," Mason patted the boulder. "Unless you want the whole park to see us?" The alcove wasn't easily seen, and the park was beginning to lessen in activity as the time got closer to dinner.

Jet finally sighed and turned towards Theo again. Every time Jet even looked at the kid he started smiling again. Something finally melted within Jet's cold heart, for he finally bent down and held his arms out, to which the boy immediately clung to him, arms around his neck.

"Jet!" He exclaimed, and Jet jumped slightly at finally hearing him speak.

"Uh, yeah... That's my name..." Jet tried to stifle a smile as he passed a smirking Mason and ducked under the boulder, grabbing onto the rungs with his legs and arm, the other arm instinctively keeping Theo from falling. The kid was pretty fastened around his neck, but just for safe measure, he made sure he wouldn't slip. It was a long fall down, and just thinking about it made Jet sick.

Jet had to admit, if he had to pick carrying this kid over the non-stop talk train that climbed after Renley, he'd pick this kid. Didn't speak a damn word, just how he liked. Well, except his name, which he found... was that endearment he felt? No. Don't make connections yet, that was a terrible move. This life was like living in fucking Westeros: you make a strong connection, and then they're probably gonna die. That's life in the Brotherhood. Of course, Jet couldn't help but go against it. He was only human after all, but in his words, that's what got _her_ killed...

"Okay, bud? We're almost down." He mumbled to the kid, who simply clung tighter.

Finally reaching the dark stone floor, Jet heard Mason shut the top and descend behind them. He turned with Theo still clinging to him to be greeted by a dimly-lit silhouette of Renley, the only source of light being a very dim orange bulb several yards down the round tunnel. The tunnel was akin to a sewer, but without the smell. Concrete walls lined with dim lights reached a metal door at the end. A hallway branched both to the left and right near to the door, but those halls looked dark. Jet knew they only led to a dead-end on the right, but the left hall led to the Broken Tunnels, the ruins of the old Manhattan Den before the raid of 2012. Jet always thought the tunnels were eerie... Mason and Jet explored parts of them one time, and to Mason's anguish, many of the rooms still had decomposing bodies and skeletons amongst the rubble. Best to just head straight to the door for this time, that was a no-brainer. Jet forbade anyone going into those tunnels besides him and Mason, since the old ruins were like a labyrinth of unstable ruins and _very_ spooky skeletons.

"He likes you," Renley said quietly to Jet, breaking the silence the tunnel created. The sewer smelled distinctly of petrichor and mud as the kids stuck close to the older ones.

"I can tell... I'm really not good with kids at all, I don't understand..." Jet mumbled. Theo still quietly held onto him. Renley seemed amused by this, as if taking a leaf from Mason's book and noticing his shortcoming.

"You remind him of his father, probably." Renley said softly, staring wistfully. _His_ father? As in, not hers?

Before Jet could reply, Mason had joined them. "All good?" He looked around, before noticing how frightened the kids looked at the new surroundings. "There's no monsters here, but let Jet and I go ahead, okay?" He gave them a reassuring smile as he and Jet took the lead.

When they reached the crossroads in the hallway, Jet and Mason both stopped, turning towards each hallway.

"It's Jet and Mason, Master Assassins to the Brotherhood, ages twenty-one and twenty, respectively. Nothing is true," Jet spoke authoritatively and clearly down the hall he was facing.

"Everything is permitted." Two voices from either side of the halls echoed back from the shadows. Jet felt Theo's grip around his neck get tighter as he became startled by the new voices. He instinctively put a hand on the kid's back as they approached the door, turning it softly before it made a loud "clang".

"Come on in," Mason said, before swinging the door open.

Inside was a long hallway with doors lining the sides which led to the bedrooms. A little ways down was a crossroads, in which more rooms could be found, but Jet led the party to the right to open up to a large open-floor living space. A couch and a few armchairs to the right faced a big television, a table for dining sat to the left, and in the back lay a granite and stainless steel kitchen area.

"Wow, you Assassins sure got some digs for being underground." Renley breathed, looking around. She made a few nervous glances back at her siblings, especially Theo, who Jet tried to put down.

"Come on, you gotta get off now..." Jet grumbled, trying to gently pry the kid off as he kneeled down. He wouldn't budge.

"Theo!" Renley snapped a finger, her tone meaning business. Definitely a mom voice on that one. Theo slowly let go of Jet's neck and dropped the few inches to the floor from where Jet was kneeling, before running over to Renley, looking sad.

Jet gave Renley a reassuring smile, not because he liked her particularly, but he knew she probably had her hands full with this troop all the time. He also needed to get somewhat on her good side if he was to talk to her about her experiences and whatnot.

"Wow! This is so cool, you guys have such a cool secret lair! I love it! Can I sleep on the couch? It's comfy!" Jack babbled, already bouncing on the couch. Renley, with Leila in her arms, rolled her eyes at Jet with a small smirk.

"You guys can split between two rooms! How's that sound?" Mason piped up.

"Good... but what's this?" Renley asked, and Jet turned to see her examining a scorch mark behind one of the paintings on the wall.

A flash of pain flooded Jet's chest as he looked away, and Mason must've caught it for he spoke up before Jet could say anything.

"The den has seen better days. Some time ago a mercenary bypassed security and blew the place up a bit. I assure you, though, that proper measures have been taken and security has been bolstered. We've made sure to not make this den as big of a hotspot as it was before. We moved for several months after the incident, but now we're back as we've gotten a big bolster of recruits lately." Mason explained calmly.

Renley seemed unconvinced about the safety, but she looked away from the burns. "Alright then, fine. So how long are we allowed to stay? Because obviously children don't belong in a place like this." She spoke flatly, her eyes giving Jet daggers briefly.

"However long it takes me to answer your questions. Also, the recruits are going to be back soon." Jet nodded that last part to Mason, flicking his head.

"I'll go announce what's going on, but you should report to Adam." Mason said to Jet, turning his gaze to Renley for a moment.

"What about Thomas? Does he know?" Jet asked, anxiety turning his stomach a bit thinking about the Mentor.

Thomas wasn't someone you went against, especially anything dealing with the tenets. He was easily the most skilled fighter the Brotherhood had seen in decades, better than Jet even, as proven quite a few times over Jet's career in the Brotherhood. He still had the scars to prove those fights, while Thomas didn't.

"Yeah, Adam briefed him on the situation. He'll probably want to speak to you personally." Mason said. Jet groaned at the thought.

"I'm not going all the way to LA just to _talk_ with Daddy Mentor. Look, I'll just give him a call, alright?" Jet said, a bit flustered.

"Not what he meant, I think a video or phone call would suffice. Also, keep calling him Daddy, and I'll be resurfacing with that host of gay jokes you hate."

"You wouldn't."

"I'll be back, Jet plane!" Mason called as he confidently waltzed through the double doors into the gym to greet the recruits, who all greeted him loudly, causing the curiosity of the kids to be piqued. Bastard! You mention just _once_ that you like another guy and Mason just shits all over it for the next thousand years! _Whatever._

"Whoa! How many of you guys are there?" Jack asked, getting up from the couch to run over to the double doors, but Renley swiftly grabbed him.

"Dunno. Maybe about twenty right now." Jet shrugged, biting the inside of his lip as he thought about talking with Thomas. The dude just kinda creeped him out to be honest. Never really knew what he was gonna do in reaction to things. "I'll be right back, stay here."

Jet turned his back on the small family and headed back into the hallway, heading straight for Adam's room and knocking.

"Who's there?" He sounded tired. Probably caught him in the middle of a nap.

"Jet. Can I come in?"

There was a brief and very British grumbling before the door opened to reveal a disheveled, just-woken-up Adam. His brown hair was tousled more than usually was, and the dark circles under his eyes didn't help the fact Jet had to look to this guy as his superior.

"We've got Renley and her siblings. They're safe." Jet reported.

Adam yawned loudly, stretching. "Good, good... 'Safety' is such a fun word to use in the Brotherhood, isn't it? Especially here." He mumbled.

"Don't patronize me." Jet growled, and Adam's gaze immediately pierced into him. A challenge.

"Still sensitive about that subject, are we? If you want to be a Mentor, you're gonna have to let go. I have." Adam said flatly. Jet could see the pain in his eyes still. It's Jet's fault that pain was there in the first place.

"Who said I want to be Mentor?" Jet snorted. "Besides, just because I murdered a traitor to the Brotherhood doesn't mean-"

"Shut it, Jet. We're all over it. Yeah, you killed my fucking traitorous lover, gold star for you. You think two sides of a coin cost different?"

"Alright, alright, I'm over it. Now, are you gonna come help me with these kids?" Jet averted his gaze. Mentor had won again... Jet wasn't keen for mind games. Adam might've sworn off of killing, but his tongue was one of silver.

"After you talk to Thomas." It looked like he already had him on call on his computer, the microphone on mute.

Jet groaned. "Fine. Put him on."

Adam clicked around, before a live video popped up, revealing one of the oldest non-retired Assassin members: Thomas. Maybe at one point he had a last name, but it was never important enough, Jet guessed. Thomas ran a quick hand through short light hair as he leaned back in a chair. He had sharp light eyes and the slightest hint of age throughout his facial features despite being around his mid thirties.

"Hello, Jet. Adam gave me some details, but it's always a joy hearing your side of things," Thomas said sarcastically, absently picking at his nails with a bent paper clip.

"Hey, listen, I don't need to just sit here and-"

"Jet." Thomas cut him off quickly. Jet stared at the screen with an annoyed look. Thomas could be _really_ aggravating to talk to, almost arrogant. "Do you remember when we fought? When you were only about two months into the Brotherhood? That was a fun time..."

"Wha-What? Why mention that? That's completely off-topic. Just let me explain about-"

"No, no! Remember when you snapped and lost control and almost killed one of our brothers using Shapeshifter's M9? Reminded me of the traitor-killing incident a bit. I should have been a bit more careful about that." Thomas kind of stared off at something on the opposite wall, thinking, but Jet knew he was just picking at him.

"You beat me, okay? And then we fought again, you still beat me. You're the fucking greatest gift to combat on this gay Earth, is that good? Does that make you happy? I'm only ever second place to you, O Great One." Jet seethed, hearing Adam try his best to stifle a laugh behind him.

Thomas wasn't afraid to let out an amused chuckle. "You're just as easy to pick on as you were then. Anyway... explain the situation."

Jet took a deep breath, quickly going over what he had found to the best of his ability, also circling around possible conclusions to questions.

"So you think she'll be able to help us?" Thomas asked at the end.

"Yes. Maybe... I don't know if she should. She has a family and I-"

"She's a part of this whether she likes it or not. That Shard of Eden was meant for her."

Jet stopped and stared a moment. "What? What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not going to be beneficial for either of you if I'm the one explaining it. She'll tell you. Just make sure she comes to terms with what this means, though. She will need to be trained, and her siblings will need a more stable home..." Thomas started talking as if plans were already made.

"Thomas, no. I can't let her get wrapped up in this! It's bad news."

"Jet, you're missing the picture here by a long shot. It's not about blood, it's about the Brotherhood. Something is stirring, and none of us know what it is yet, but it's all stemming from that Philadelphia explosion. If we're to understand the puzzle, we need to understand a crucial piece of it, one of which happens to be down the hall from you. Like I said, it's her that's the key person here. You're right about her siblings, they need stability somewhere outside the den, but let them stay there for now until I head over in ten days' time."

"You're coming _here_?" Jet asked. "That's leaving the entire West coast Mentorless."

"I need to assess this girl myself, and do some field research on Abstergo with Adam. Arctic will head here while I'm gone, no worries." Thomas waved him off.

"Fine. I'll see you soon then." Jet grunted, mouse hovering over the "end call" button.

"Bye, Jet. Hang in there." Thomas ended the call before Jet could. Always a step ahead.

Jet turned to Adam, who stood up. "Let's get Renley, then."

Adam grunted his approval before following Jet out of his room and towards the living area, brushing his hands along the wall absently. Jet stopped when he heard the footsteps behind him cease.

He turned to see Adam picking at a deeply-set blood stain and scorch mark on the wall, eyes dull and listless.

"I thought you told me to let go." Jet said monotonously, lips curling ever-so-slightly. Adam let his hand fall as he slowly turned to face Jet with intense eyes.

"Oh, and I did, but you and I... we remember too much, don't we?"


	18. ACT 1: Chapter 17 - ZACH

**ZACH**

* * *

Zach was never one to lay low. Hypocritical, considering the man had done just that for several years while gaining his forces. It wasn't a simple task by any means, though... People don't just blindly follow a code or a leadership without something for them in return. Zach promised one thing that the other sides could not: An ultimatum; an end goal in which peace will be achieved by realistic means. The Brotherhood's efforts for freedom would always be in vain, and the Templar Order's strive for order would find the same fate. Two sides so even like that would amount to nothing but destruction in the end. Why not speed up the process? The world needs one stable side. Of course, there would be those to oppose the new creed for the new world. That's why there's the end goal with the Apple... the Apple will put everything together the way it should be.

Oh, but Zach knows what some think: Destruction isn't worth it. It's futile, wrong... but then why do humans still partake in it every day? Surely it's a necessity of some kind, or an instinct. They're going to kill each other off eventually, whether it's by the blade or by the wind. He wasn't looking to rule the goddamn world, that'd be a child's achievement. Zach only wished to abolish the Brotherhood and Templar Order from poisoning the ranks of humanity forever and promote a balance to its ashes. Through that, people could live on peacefully without this secret war that tore through generations. Zach knew that even members of those Orders didn't want to fight. They only wanted peace, in the end... which was the end goal for Zach as well. A reachable one, he would say, not some wishy-washy idea that stood for nothing atop a set of rules. Oh, and believe him, he'd tried to confide in those ideals before.

So here the man stood, head-to-toe in black combat gear, strapped down with all the necessities to his chest and hips. In his arms was a small silenced Uzi, but it was only a faint glint compared to the darkness that surrounded the group of shadows that slunk through the musty storm drain system. Seldom used, as told by how little water accumulated down here. The only thing that seemed to stick around were the homeless, but they didn't inhabit these parts. They knew better.

The shadows were numbered nearing the triple digits, having built up their group over the course of the day. One huge group couldn't just stroll into there in their combat gear. No, it was a process: a few go at a time at different entrances, usually wearing inconspicuous baggy clothing and staying out of sight of wary individuals. Once at the rendezvous, they'd strip into their proper gear. The process was well worth it, as Zach's spies told them their target raid was unsuspecting and not very well armed as of now.

Zach approached a small metal ladder leading upwards, where a circular hatch was in the ceiling. A small hole let in a beam of golden light from above, tiny dust motes floating past gently, which could only mean that whatever was up there was indoors. It was the middle of the night outside, after all.

Veronica, at first completely blended in with the crowd of black-clad soldiers, now took her place in front of them all next to Zach, nodding simply as she chewed leisurely on gum, looking rather bored.

Zach gave a blank, yet disapproving look, but Veronica just gave him a similar look right back until both of them silently decided nothing was going to come out of an altercation here anyway.

Zach stretched a hand above the crowd, signalling them to stop and hush as he pulled the hand to his lips next before letting it fall. Zach's boots made faint creaks as the rubber met the metal of the ladder's rungs, ascending until he gently opened the latch, golden light pouring onto him. The first thing he was met with was a half-asleep, yet surprised young Assassin who turned to him from his lounging in a chair, hand swiftly on a pistol on his hip.

"Hello... We weren't expecting anyone tonight. Name, rank, and reason of entry?" The Assassin asked, and something in his gaze made his eyes flicker from uneasy tiredness to fear as Zach's eyes glinted a fierce amber in the light.

"Sorry, got caught up in a mission north of here! You wouldn't believe it," Zach spoke lightly, casually hoisting himself up and into the room, standing with his Uzi tucked into a holster behind him, out of sight. "My name is Lance. Assassin Rank 4."

"Rank 4, eh? Not many of you, and I've never heard of a Lance. Last name?" The Assassin seemed half-convinced, and Zach noticed a small tremor in his hand holding the gun.

"It certainly _has_ been awhile, hasn't it? I'm presumed to be dead, after all." Zach said matter-of-factly, folding his hands behind his back as he teetered slightly on the balls of his feet.

The Assassin looked perplexed, studying Zach's face closely, trying to weave some sort of connection together.

"I asked you a question." He ended up saying, standing up, eyebrows still furrowed.

The Uzi was drawn within a fraction of a second, and the young Assassin's skull and brain matter splattered onto the cream-colored wall behind him the completed second after, nothing more than a soft click and a thump heard.

"There's your answer." Zach huffed under his breath, spitting to the side as he quickly checked the adjacent rooms and halls for any activity. Silent. He looked over where the Assassin's body now lay, taking notice in the newspaper he was reading. LA Times, half of it soaked in dark blood. "AKULOV QUESTIONED; MORE ANSWERS REVEALED ABOUT BOMBING" Was plastered across the front. Only fitting that the blood soaked through halfway over Akulov's mugshot, spreading quickly over the other half.

Zach opened the hatch again and gave the signal for the others to come up, but slowly. Now the real fun began. The leader allowed his teams to cycle around first; the heads of each group knew this den's layout. Teams filed upstairs, where Zach could only hear the soft clicks of silenced firearms and brief struggles as Assassins were slaughtered without a second thought.

Veronica whistled at the smashed-open head splattered on the wall and the Assassin's body on the floor.

"We'll help with the courtyard, follow me." Zach shouldered past her.

Zach knew, however, that the real fight was about to happen when he passed the courtyard area, where his forces had quickly overtook the few Assassins that had been out there for late-night training of some sort. It was when a dozen of his own men were getting beaten by one man alone did Zach know, and did Zach interfere.

"YOU FUCKING SHITS! I'LL MAKE EVERY ONE OF YOU FUCKING SUFFER!" Short blonde hair was flecked with blood as the man took cover behind a pillar across the courtyard. Bullets pinged and indented the pillar, but Zach reached a hand in the air.

"Sweet motherfucking Jesus, this is going to be the best day of my life..." Veronica cackled in amusement upon seeing who the remaining survivor was.

"Cease fire." Zach calmly ordered as he stepped out. "And you," He turned to Veronica, "Let _me_ handle this."

The team lowered their weapons.

Zach crossed his arms, a smirk cutting through his cheek. "Thomas, Thomas, Thomas... Come on out, big guy. You and I have a lot of catching up to do."

The sound of Zach's voice must've tipped something off in the man's head, for he appeared from behind the pillar with a scary, appalled look in his eyes. The stark night couldn't disguise his look; there was a history to be learned as the two locked eyes.

"Zach, is that the Mentor?" A soldier near Zach asked nervously. The man pulled himself up straight, and gave a short laugh.

" _Zach_? Is that what they're calling you? I guess lying to your own soldiers and brothers isn't a new thing for you, though." Thomas spat, blood covering much of his body, but none of it was his own. This man was considered the head Mentor for a reason.

"I don't lie to my brothers, Thomas. They know my past, just as you do. Many of them have similar pasts as well, with either the Brotherhood or the Order. I find my name to be... easier on everyone. Are you surprised to see me?" Zach's voice was a pitch too high; the very air these two spoke in was too toxic for any others to speak as more of Zach's soldiers came over to watch the commotion.

"You're supposed to be dead." Thomas huffed, eyeing both Veronica and Zach. " _Both_ of you."

"And _you're_ not supposed to be Mentor." Zach snarled.

"Times changed. _I've_ changed. So did you."

Zach laughed. "Don't get sentimental with me, you know I fucking hated that shit."

"You're just like your brother," Thomas murmured. Zach's face went slack.

"Excuse me?"

"If you're their leader, then challenge me. Just you and I. No interference. I can sense that Sword of Eden on you, so, let it be swords only." Thomas spoke this time as a true Mentor, not an old acquaintance.

Zach grabbed the sword's hilt from its slender sheathe on his back and pulled. "Someone grab our guest a sword!" He practically cheered, a confident grin on his face as three soldiers raced to the weapons rack nearby.

They gave Thomas a standard blade, but it was nothing more of a model than what Zach's was, making this fight a fair one as the Mentor quickly got the feel of the blade in his hands. Zach remembered Thomas was one of the few Assassins back in the day who had a lot of quick access to the Animus and its bleeding effects, most notably with sword-slinging ancestors. He was always jealous of it since Zach's blood never took well to the Animus, so he had to learn on his own. No matter.

The courtyard cleared itself as the spectators dragged bodies littering the yard to the edges as they watched, the only light coming from the soft yellow interior lighting from the windows and very little from the hazy moon. The two combatants circled each other, Zach's sword shimmering ever-so-slightly a golden sheen in the gloom of night, Thomas's glinting a soft silver.

"I knew you were alive..." Thomas spoke as he circled, refusing to break his fierce contact.

"Then why not chase? I was half-dead, and what about my brother? You could have taken him in sooner, but you didn't." Zach replied flatly.

"Like you gave a shit about him in the first place. When he showed up in our ranks, I made _sure_ he wouldn't follow your footsteps. I've been a better brother than you ever could be."

"Always were full of yourself, Thomas. But now you're Mentor! _Mentor_! Tell me again... Tell me again who was the friend of yours that tried to kill me with you? The one who's face I fucking lit on fire and laughed in his face as he burned and you did nothing but watch?"

"You thought I became a Mentor by kissing ass? You don't know jack shit, Lance." Thomas sneered back, calmly waving the sword. His eyes, scanning the environment for other weapons he might be able to use, were cold, but from deep within an old fire could be seen, a memory from years past.

"The Assassins are a dying breed, same with the Templars. If people didn't agree, I wouldn't have the forces I do now. Almost all of them used to be of one of those parties, now they follow me in hopes of a _real_ peace, of a _real_ goal. But how can we consider ourselves the better option when the two parties stand? For old time's sake, I decided to start with you. I hope you'll prove my decision was a good one." Zach chuckled briefly, scrapping his sword on the ground slightly in a lax manner.

"What, too scared to go after the biggest corporation in the world?"

"Scared? No. Smart to avoid them for as long as possible? Yes." Zach didn't seem fazed by Thomas' taunts.

"And what'll you do, once you achieve this world domination?" Thomas shifted his questions.

Zach laughed again. "World domination? What? Not what I'm after. I'm not a leader of anything other than soldiers, and you know it. My only goal is to purge the evil that both sides have caused and leave the world a blank slate for peace to finally prosper, because we both know as long as both sides stand, nothing will come of it. Surely that's easy to understand even for you?"

"You just haven't come to terms with human nature, but I can see that there's no point in talking with a man no wiser through the years." Thomas spun his sword around in a flourish, and beckoned Zach to come at him.

"Human nature is what caused all of the destruction in the world. I'm not the one who's blind."

With that, Zach swept his sword up from the ground, the metal scraping along the concrete briefly as he lunged to meet Thomas' blade with a swift clang to finally break their speech. The soldiers standing around the battle could not see what was happening, such was the speed of the blades as they flew through the air in a whirlwind of death. Only Veronica could fully follow what was happening, and she could see that slowly Lance was gaining the upper hand. Thomas had speed, but Lance's movements were deliberate and strong, threatening to shove Thomas off-balance several times, but he regained his footing within a second, striking back with three times the blows inflicted.

The crowd cheered for Lance to finish him, for the fight to end and their goal to be one step closer to completion, but Lance was enjoying the exhilaration of battle too much to care about the time. He had all the stamina in the world, and this Mentor's breath was running shorter with each strike becoming more predictable than the last, until Thomas caught an opening in Lance's stance, and planted a swift kick into his chest, surprising the leader enough to make him stumble several steps. With that, Thomas immediately dashed for his upper torso, but an almost instinctual parry gave Zach the perfect opening to use Thomas' momentum to twist him around and shove him back, before slashing open a huge gash down his thigh.

Thomas roared in pain, leg going limp as he used his sword to help him stand. Blood seeped through his jeans and quickly tainted the concrete.

"Surrender, O great and glorious Assassin Mentor, the one they told me can never be beaten," Lance toyed with him, circling him like a hawk. Thomas had struck Lance a few times, but nothing as major as this.

"Fuck you, Lance. You're going to crash and burn, your whole plan is. And fuck you for killing innocent lives to achieve it, you heartless bastard." Thomas half winced, half hissed through clenched teeth as his arm shook from holding himself up.

Lance slashed at Thomas' sword, causing the man's only balance to clatter to the ground, and soon after did he fall too. The cheers escalated until Veronica shouted above them for them all to be silent.

"The days of the Brotherhood and Templar Order are over. In just one week I've killed two major Templar leaders in that Philadelphia explosion, destroyed and slaughtered over forty Assassins in this den, and now I've beaten the supposed "strongest fighter" in the Brotherhood in single combat. I believe I'm the one who holds the reins now, Thomas."

Thomas spat at his feet. "You have tainted blood, brother."

Lance looked down at him coldly, but did not reply as he gestured for Veronica to come over. The woman looked blank in her approach, but the urgency in her pace to Lance gave a sense of curiosity and excitement.

"Thomas, I'm going to let you live. Consider it even since you spared my life all those years ago. I want you to be a living message for your crumbling Brotherhood, and I want you to tell them how you were beaten and how you allowed your entire den to get slaughtered under your rule." Lance spoke with a firm power behind his voice, kicking Thomas' sword farther away from him.

"We should just kill him, honestly..." Veronica grumbled, looking down at Thomas in disgust. Lance knew Veronica had always had a grudge on him.

"I said I'd let him live, but I never said how close to "living" that meant." Lance smirked, and he could hear Veronica's knuckles crack immediately.

Thomas looked up at Veronica, his eyes narrowed in deceit. "Why should I be surprised about _your_ affiliation?" He snorted. "Do your worst, hun. You'll be dead again in no time if you follow him around."

"You really like to hear yourself talk, don't you?" Veronica sneered, crouching down to his level, her boot resting just outside the puddle of Thomas' blood. She stood up slightly, dipping her boot in the edges of his blood before kicking up into his jaw, sending him reeling onto his back.

"Leave him some ways down the street when you're done with him." Lance said, before turning back around to face his eager soldiers.

* * *

 **END OF ACT 1**


	19. INTERMISSION 1: Section 1 - THE RECRUIT

**AN:** These next few chapters, titled "Intermission", are backstories of the Independence characters that are most pivotal to the story and its progression. Some chapters will be very long, much longer than a normal Act chapter. I will state at the beginning of each chapter how long ago it took place and other essential info so you're as informed as possible. I hope you enjoy, and if there's anything I can do to make your reading experience better, please let me know! Intermission sections happen between each Act.

* * *

 **3 YEARS AGO**

* * *

 **JET'S POV**

* * *

" _Is he gonna wake up soon, ya think?_ "

" _No idea. That machine probably fucked him up bad. He was in there for about five days straight. Schizophrenic too. We'll need someone to stand outside the door until he wakes up. No doubt he'll be unstable."_

" _Sounds good, I'll take first shift._ "

Their voices were distant, but I can hear them.

I felt safe, but afraid. I do not know why. I am no longer trapped… A weight had been taken off my chest and shoulders. I feel like I can just… wake up. Resurface from drowning in this darkness.

A sharp and sudden inhale startled me awake, but it was coming from my own lips. My eyes flashed open, and a blue-gray color filled my line of sight. A ceiling… oh yes. The top part of a room. I'm in a room. What _really_ classifies a room? Is a room not just anything with four walls enclosing something? Four walls, four walls... the weight is back.

I could move! I could feel myself blinking and moving my tongue, lips, and snapping my teeth together. It was like a new discovery; it felt so strange to actually have a body from feeling like an unformed ghost for so long. I could actually move my body! I am free. I am human. I am Jet.

But where had Jet gotten himself?

I tried to sit up, pain fluttering through my body, down my spine to my tailbone, then to my feet. I look down to a bare chest and a pair of black sweatpants. It felt extremely strange to be moving again after being in that contraption so long. What did they call it? An Animus? I practiced making a fist and moved my arms around, testing out this now-foreign body. What had happened to me? Was all of that a dream?

No. I could still vividly remember everything.

Ignazio.

" _You have it…_ " I heard a hiss from my bedside. I quickly swerved my head around, but there was nothing there. Just four walls. Four walls, and they're all trying to talk to me. Are they? No, no, they shouldn't...

"Who's there?" I said quietly. My voice sounded strange too, raspy and low, as if I still wasn't in the correct body. But deep down I knew I was.

No reply, only eerie silence.

The room was warm, but I felt a cold draft sweep over my bare torso. Maybe I was imagining it.

Scanning the room, I quickly gathered my surroundings. The room was fairly dark, for one, and had two doors, one half-open leading to a bathroom. There was an oak dresser at the end of the room near the bathroom, and next to it a floor-length mirror. A window to the outside world on the right side of the room let me know it was nighttime. Everything about the room was placid and undisturbed. A beam of moonlight cast a thousand different-colored periwinkle motes around the room, all of them dancing in the light the window brought. It looked like completely normal bedroom, but I wasn't convinced. A room had been a prison before. A human could make a prison out of anything though, I reminded myself. A mind, a room, a building, a country, a planet. It all depends on who becomes accustomed and complacent with their prisons. Confinement defines us. But it will not define me.

I used what strength I had left to struggle out of the bed, pain shooting up my legs and back like tiny lightning strikes. Walking was an instinct, and I managed to wobble over to the mirror, an erratic heartbeat causing my temples to almost burst with pain. White lines crossed my vision again, pulsating fiercely as my heartbeat climbed in a frenzied panic. My face felt cold suddenly. Fuck, could I make it back to the bed? I felt like collapsing, but I forced myself to keep standing. Finally, my heartbeat calmed down and I could see normally. Goddamn, everything fucking hurt.

In the mirror, what I saw before me was a young man. An unruly mop of pitch black hair was the first feature I noticed, followed by my pale face. Yeah. That was me. On the right side of my face the smooth skin on my cheek was broken by a faint pink scar, tracing from the bottom of my eye to above my jaw line. I could tell I was probably strong by the lean muscle on me, but my arms, chest, and back seemed to be covered in scars of some sort. My neck revealed a deep 3-inch long purple scar, like someone had unsuccessfully tried to slit my throat (A long story for another day). What surprised me most were my eyes, which I just noticed because the room was fairly dim from the only light source being the full moon through the window. One eye was a vibrant sea-foam turquoise while the other was a pale and almost smoky blue. I stepped closer to investigate, blinking several times to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Both eyes didn't feel any different, they just looked it. A feeling of annoyance crept into my head as I investigated. I hated my eyes, that's right. But why? I felt like I could remember everything if I just thought hard enough, but they seemed mentally just out of reach. It pissed me off.

I shifted my weight between my aching feet, running a hand through my hair, and a swift glare of something metallic radiated from the pocket of my sweatpants. I stopped and looked down.

Oh, fuck.

No.

Please god, no.

The dagger.

I had it.

" _Give it to me, bastard! It's mine!_ " The hissing voice from before resounded from behind me. I looked in the mirror, horrified by what I saw in the reflection.

I turned around, the hair on my neck raised in alarm and fear.

Standing there next to my bed, as if formed from the very shadows themselves, was Ignazio Auditore. Chestnut hair and same colored eyes, but he looked just like I left him: insane and purely evil. His eyes narrowed into tiny slits, and he smiled widely and crudely.

" _Looks like you're the next in line. I banished that cursed dagger, and for all these years I've waited for you to get it... And now it seems you're doomed to keep it until your demise. How… tragic._ " Ignazio hissed, smoke escaping from between his snarling teeth. His voice sounded demonic, raspy and broken.

No. No, no, no, no. This wasn't right. I took out the dagger, my hands shaking. It was a beautiful 6 inch long blade, completely golden, and very light. I could feel power radiate from it.

I was doomed. This dagger was cursed; I am doomed to die from insanity just like Ignazio. Nothing mattered, no matter how hard I tried to make a new life for myself I will end up like him. Everyone who owned this dagger died horribly. Every. Single. One.

"G-go away, you're not real," I stuttered, trembling as I held my ground.

As if on command, a small black cat- yes, a cat -with bright yellow eyes rubbed up against Ignazio's shadowed legs and glared right at me. Not a cat, not a cat... Anything but a cat. Evil creatures...

"Go away. Go away go away go away," I kept repeating, voice cracking. I struggled to take deep breaths, but they each came out as panicked gasps instead.

" _What's the matter, Ezekiel? Don't you like this?_ " Ignazio jeered, a smile cutting his cheek. The cat turned to two, then three, each watching me intently.

Ezekiel. That name. That was my name. No, my name is Jet. Or did I make that up?

The name itself sparked a feeling of anger, but I do not know why. I did not like that name. Not one fucking bit. But there was nothing wrong with it…

"Why do you want the dagger then? You're dead." I said, gripping the dagger tighter. I didn't know whether to look at Ignazio or keep my eyes on those awful cats.

" _Oh, I was just messing with you. I want nothing to do with that stupid thing anymore. No, it would be much more fun to watch you slowly crumble. Piece by piece, you will crumble. Piece. By. Piece._ " Ignazio reviled.

"GO AWAY! I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! TAKE THIS THING AWAY FROM ME!" I screamed suddenly, feeling my face get hot as my fists shook. I tried to throw the dagger at them, but it shot through them into the wall.

Ignazio and the cats simply laughed at my reaction. Their laughter and ecstasy flooded my head, wrapping around and ensnaring within my brain.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT!" I wailed, covering my ears to block out their laughter. No, there was no getting rid of it. I looked down to find the dagger at my feet again as if I had never thrown it.

I screamed and screamed until my voice went hoarse. I don't know how long I was standing there yelling at the top of my lungs. Seconds? Minutes?

The last thing I remember was receiving a sharp blow to the back of my head, and everything went black.

Again.

* * *

Waking up the second time wasn't as difficult as the first.

On the other hand, this time I didn't even want to wake up.

The crushing knowledge of knowing I had the dagger—"Shapeshifter"—was enough to make me want to just lay in bed forever or just fucking kill myself before the dagger did it slowly. I didn't want to deal with this shit. I didn't want to deal with the hallucinations, the confusion, and the memory loss. Not now. Not ever. God, I wish those bastards back at that… that _place_ had just killed me. I didn't know if those people were part of the people that brought me here, or if there was something larger going on.

There was only one path I could take—get up and find out.

I blinked open my eyes and tried to sit up, only I found I was bound to the bed with a number of different belts around my chest and arms. Fuck.

Well, I guess I couldn't blame them if these elusive people had heard me screaming at things that only I could see. They probably thought I was mentally insane. Whatever. I _think_ I had dealt with it before, because I didn't feel weird about thinking that people thought I was crazy. Er... did that make sense? Whatever.

Over the painful course of three minutes, I managed to wriggle free out of the belt subduing my left arm and I used it to unhook all of the other belts. Damn, I didn't think I was screaming _that_ loud, was I? Eh, didn't matter. I was free now.

I got up, the pain in my head and body not as prominent as last time, thankfully. I glanced outside the window, but all there was outside was a small clearing surrounded by more of what appeared to be the same building, which was a dull white-gray. Not much to look at, but I could tell it was morning or around noon. I went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the sink, splashing water on my face and a bit through my hair to help wake me up. I looked at myself in the mirror again, confirming my view of myself from yesterday—still the same scruffy black hair and weird-ass eyes. I sighed and dried my face off with a towel and headed back to the room.

Now it's time to see who my rescuers were.

A small dark tabby cat started giggling shrilly in the back of my mind as my eyes scanned around for the hallucination. The little bastard was perched on top of the oak dresser, its fur sleek and shiny as its green eyes flickered at me threateningly.

I decided to just ignore it. Maybe if I completely blocked it out of my head, it would go away. I shut my eyes and focused on the matter at hand: Find the people who took me.

I turned around and… the cat was gone. It worked! Whew, at least I'm alright for now. I know the stupid thing will be back, or worse, Ignazio would be back too. I tried to remember if I could see anything else that was evil other than cats. Perhaps.

I tried to open the door that was near my bed. Of course, it was locked. I knocked several times to see if someone was on the other side. If not, I would have to break it down, right?

" _Shit, dude! He's awake! He's knocking, I think he broke out of the belts,_ " I heard a muffled male voice from the other side.

" _Will we need the taser again? Here's pepperspray, that worked well on him last time._ " Another voice, female, said.

Pepperspray? Tasers? 'AGAIN'?! What the fuck…

" _He might be fine now, though. Here's a gun, and I'll take this baseball bat just in case. We're gonna go in there, and knock him out again if he went all nuts._ " A different female voice said.

" _Gotcha. On three?_ "

Shit.

I scrambled to the other side of my bed, thinking they were going to burst in. Instinctively, I pulled out the dagger in defense but kept it low so they knew I wasn't going to attack.

" _One, two… Three!_ "

BAM!

Four well-armed people broke down the door, looking around wildly before settling their gazes on me. Two men, two women, all holding respective weaponry to beat me down with. Yikes.

At first, they looked absolutely deadly, and quite frankly I almost pissed myself at the sight of them. But after a few seconds of awkward staring, their tight, angry faces slackened and revealed that they weren't going to kill me. Yet.

"W-what the fuck are you doing?!" I demanded, gripping Shapeshifter tighter and holding it up defensively.

The male with sandy blonde hair stepped forward, and before I could react, he grabbed me by the shoulder and into a chokehold, flinging my hand holding Shapeshifter away to disarm me rather swiftly.

"W-what the fuck…" I sputtered, windpipe being crushed. I tried to wriggle out but this guy had me good.

"Thomas, I think he's fine…" The girl with chestnut-brown hair said, lowering her weapon.

"Can't be too careful, especially with this one..."

I felt Thomas' arms slacken, but he and the other male grabbed me by each arm and forcibly led me outside the room and down a long hallway. I had dropped the dagger, but from being with Ignazio, I knew it would return. I wasn't about to struggle yet with these guys. Not like I would know where an exit was.

Before I could absorb my surroundings, I felt a blindfold clasp over my eyes.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" I yelled, but these people ignored me. They were the scientists. They were going to put me back in the machine. The last thing I wanted was to see Ignazio again.

"LET ME GO! I'M NOT GOING BACK IN THAT MACHINE!" I resisted, trying to flail and kick my way out but it proved impossible. These fuckheads were the people from that building. I knew it.

Finally, I was tossed into a metal chair like a wild animal and my hands were bound behind my back. The blindfold was ripped off of my face, revealing the four people again and a dark, four-walled room that had the haunting feeling of a torture chamber. Four walls again. Shadowy, gray, and all-around creepy were the words that described it; a single fluorescent light was fixated above me. The girl with blonde and red hair, Clara, (as I had learned from their whispers when they were talking) took a manila folder and opened it up, taking out multiple papers. The others stood against the walls, staring at me.

"Hah… cool eyes dude," The other girl, Emily, as I had gathered, commented as she leaned her long, thin body against the wall.

"Take a picture if you like 'em so fucking much, cupcake." I growled. Compliment me when I'm being fucking held hostage? Fuck you.

That earned me a kick to the jaw by her, a boot colliding and making my head spin.

"Idiot," She growled, leaning against the wall again. Oof, ouch... Fiesty bitch...

The short-haired girl started talking, her accent British, "Hmmm… Ezekiel Jacob Akulov. Changed your name to Jet for unknown reasons, diagnosed with schizophrenia, ADHD…" Clara started to read off of the papers she held, a satisfied smirk inching across her face.

"FUCK YOU, STOP READING THAT!" I yelled and stood up, only to be kicked back down by Thomas, who stood with his arms crossed unapologetically. God dammit, now these assholes probably knew everything about my life. The life that _I_ didn't even know about. That pissed me off most of all.

She went and grabbed me by the neck, right where the scar was.

"Listen, you ungrateful fuck. We just risked our lives trying to save your ass. If it weren't for us, you would still be in that machine, called an Animus, or dead. Comply and answer a few questions, and you will be able to leave, got it?" Her voice was firm and her grip on my neck more so.

"Agh… Fine. Get this shit over with, then..." I hissed, and she released her nails from my throat.

"Hmm… Looks like you've had symptoms of schizophrenia from a young age, your parents died when you were four, you moved around between foster homes for years, finally being put in a mental asylum when you turned 12 because you attempted the murder of one of your foster parents. Your brother seemed to have broken you out when you turned 14 and he could legally take custody of you. Hmmm… Wait a second." Clara suddenly looked concerned.

"What?" I sighed, fed up.

She exchanged looks and mutters with the others, especially Thomas, who looked more pale now.

"Your brother…" She suddenly stopped and bit her lip, before shaking her head. "Nevermind."

"What about my brother?" I demanded, eyebrows furrowed in a challenge. "My brother is dead."

Clara nodded as her eyes flickered to Thomas briefly before looking back down at her papers, flipping them around.

"Tell us more about that dagger..." Emily pointed at Shapeshifter, which was now back in my pocket. Damn it...

"That dagger is fucking cursed," I spat. Looking down, I realized Shapeshifter had found its way back to my pocket. "And why are you changing the subject?! What about my brother?"

"Shut up and comply." Emily narrowed her eyebrows.

"It's a Piece of Eden. 'Shapeshifter', I believe it's called... Cambiaforma in Spanish."

Clara folded her arms.

"Yes, we know all about it, thanks to Adam at least. An amazing artifact, but it also says you can't use any other weapons besides the dagger. That leaves five options of weapons, each with a cooldown period. You might be absolutely screwed in many situations." She said.

"Thanks." I grunted.

"We'll train you, of course. If you're willing to muster the patience and shut your mouth every now and then for us to train you." She growled.

"Train him? He doesn't look a day older than sixteen." Emily said to Clara.

"I'm eighteen, you..." I looked up at her as her gaze shot back at me with a challenge, and I could see her boot shift forward slightly. "You... wonderful, wonderful woman."

"Good boy. Anyway... what's the big idea then, Clara?" Emily held her chin a little higher.

"He's safer with us. He leaves and Abstergo will snatch him up again and kill him once they figure out what's going on with Shapeshifter." Clara explained with a sigh.

"I don't want this." I said suddenly, looking down. "I don't want to join your Order. Not yet, at least. I need… I need to figure out my past first. Where are we?" I asked.

"Well… You can't just not accept… Ugh, we're in Britain. But why would you not want to join? Your brother was a member and we saved your life." Clara argued.

"Yeah, the brother you won't talk about. Like I said, I want to know about myself before I take a commitment like this. I mean, there's nothing for me back in Manhattan, but maybe I can salvage something to help me remember. I need my memory to help me with this. You've got to understand." Wait. Manhattan? Right! I was from Manhattan! Harlem!

She hesitated and exchanged looks with everyone.

"New York is swimming with Abstergo agents and Templars. It would be unsafe, it takes one person to look you in the eyes for the whole city to be after you." Emily furrowed her eyebrows.

"I'll keep a hood up. I can lay low, I've been doing it a long time…" I remembered a bit about myself. For a split second, I envisioned myself traveling down a city sidewalk, stark golden-yellow street lamps illuminating the sidewalk in front of me... The crunch of my sneakers on the asphalt, the sound of a chain-link fence clattering, pigeons darting their tiny beaks onto the sidewalk... sounds of home.

"You know what, go. Do what you need to do." Thomas finally spoke, before coming towards me and untying me. "If you are truly one of us, you'll make it back."

I looked up at him as I rubbed my sore wrists. "S-sure, yeah... thanks..."

"First off, promises here are never well-kept. Second, we have money. Quite a bit of it. Make sure you come back in one piece, Jet. Oh, a shirt would be nice." He said, handing me a dark blue long-sleeve.

I pulled it over my head and thought about what this all meant. I was free. I knew I needed to head back to New York and get a grip on who I am, and why this happened... but I also felt the strange sensation that these people needed me, or maybe I needed them.

In any case, I had a job to do, one mission: To remember. And to never forget again.

* * *

 _Two weeks later, Jet joined the Brotherhood after a small visit back home, where he learned of Shapeshifter's capabilities as he made it turn into a pair of bagh nakh and then a Beretta M9. Meanwhile, a few members of the Brotherhood mounted an attack on a Templar base on a remote Pacific island, needing the help of a mercenary's transportation. In exchange, the Brotherhood was tasked with helping take down a small human trafficking ring in Shanghai, China. Jet took the job, but so did another recruit..._

* * *

"Nothing is true,"

"Everything is permitted." We all say in unison as we group up outside of the landing pad the chopper stood on.

After a flurry of goodbyes and happy wishes, everyone went their separate ways, most of them heading in the direction of the airport in the next building over. The moon was beginning to climb in the dark night sky, and most of us were pretty damn tired after today's mission, which was a resounding success.

Shanghai... never been to China, but the city reminded me of New York a lot, at least with the way nothing seemed to stop. Every sign was lit up in big, bold letters, each fighting to take up more space than another. The skyscrapers looked like giants against the night stars and the bustling of its people below. I found solace in places like this, despite how busy my own mind could get.

Now, for the mission we were assigned by that mercenary named Axton. He was very... vague in his description, the only leads being that the ring leaders were brothers, rich, and owned a huge underground sex trafficking business. The one brother headed that branch while the other worked with shipping guns and weaponry and hiring people to guard the other brother's hired girls. Two sick fucks is what we're dealing with.

But Emily and I had time on the ride back to figure out a plan.

"You ready to pay for the chopper?" I turn to see Emily sling a backpack over her shoulder and walk towards me, finished up with shutting down the helicopter.

"Whenever you are. My motorcycle's in a holding garage a few blocks over. Hope you aren't tired, because we're going to a nightclub."

"You already tracked them down?" She asked.

"No. But I have a hunch that's where at least his recruiters would be. If this guy's business is as vast as Axton said, that would be a prime spot to drug and grab girls." I said, grabbing my backpack and walking with her down the stairs.

"I think you just want to go nightclubbing." She sighed and smirked jokingly.

"Are you even taking this shit seriously?" I growled, turning to her.

"It was a joke, Jet. Learn to laugh once in awhile, huh?" Emily said right back, nudging my shoulder as I continued walking.

I didn't respond after that.

It wasn't a long walk to the Harley, and she looked as brand new as ever. A helmet was placed on the handlebars.

I set my bag down on the seat and secured it, and took out my pair of leather fingerless gloves, also putting on my goggles and a red bandana for my face. I slung the backpack over my shoulders again and hopped on. Oh shit... there was only one helmet. I looked at it for a few seconds, contemplating my thoughts as I looked down at my stupid face in the rounded visor.

"Here." I said monotonically, handing Emily the helmet and checking the motorcycle's features.

"Jet... are you... giving me your helmet?" She asks in fake incredulity.

"Yeah, now get on. We have a mission to do." I said flatly, not letting any sort of emotion falter my tone.

She gets on the motorcycle as I start the engine.

"It's not that difficult being nice every now and then, is it?" She yells over the sound of the motorcycle's revving engine.

I pretended not to hear her and bolted from the space and into the night.

Next stop? Nightclub.

* * *

 **EMILY'S POV**

* * *

"Wait! Stop here!" I scream over the deafening engine as Jet weaves the Harley between cars. He pulls over in front of a department store and we get off the bike.

"Why the fuck are we stopping here? This isn't the place."

"Are you serious? I can't go clubbing in _this._ " I was still wearing my flight suit, and I definitely didn't pack clothes to go clubbing in. "You should probably get something too," I say, realizing that Jet is wearing street clothes. I wondered if this guy even knew how to dress besides the same old thing every day.

"Women," Jet said under his breath, thinking I don't hear him.

"I heard that, sexist." I replied snappily. Jet didn't respond. We walk into the department store and I head upstairs to where the women's clothes are. "Do try and pick out something nice," I said, looking Jet up and down as I rode the escalator up, "Maybe get some ideas from a mannequin!"

The escalator led up right into the section of dresses. I walked around for a bit, looking at dresses of various sizes and colors. I grab a few to go try on, and I wind up choosing an onyx dress that's modest enough so I don't look too promiscuous, but revealing enough to attract attention. I grab a matching pair of heels as Jet walks up behind me.

"Is this good enough for ya, princess?"

I turned around and Jet was wearing a black button up shirt with pinstripes and dark boot cut jeans. I unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and say, "Now it is. Isn't it nice to dress up a bit?"

"Yeah, yeah... You found a dress? What about like, a nice top or something?"

"No, no. Let me do the thinking, okay?" I ruffled his hair and patted him before strutting off with my chin in the air.

After paying for the clothes, we hopped back on the Harley and sped off to the club.

Jet pulled up slowly to the club. A quick Google search showed that the club, called M2, was one of the biggest high-end clubs in the city, so we agreed that that would be a good place to look. Jet parked his bike close to the entrance. I've always liked cars better, but the convenience of a motorcycle can't be denied. Hopping off the bike, we both noticed that the line to get in is huge, but dominated by men.

"Great. How the fuck are we going to get in?"

"Let me worry about that," I said as I put my arm around Jet's waist and guided him right up to the bouncer who took one look at us and motioned for us to go in. People at the front of the line practically exploded in anger. Jet pushed open the door and we are instantly overcome by booming bass and cacophonous noise from the crowd. Some club mix of Icona Pop's recent hit "I Love It" was playing. That stuff was popular here? Huh. I stood on my tiptoes and said practically into Jet's ear, "Why don't you head over to the bar? I'm gonna try and draw the recruiter out. Keep your eyes peeled, ok?" I take a moment to notice his ears are slightly pink.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Why don't we just find him together?"

"Because I'm going to let him poison me," I said, winking at Jet as I walked onto the dance floor.

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? THAT HAS GOT TO BE THE STUPIDEST-" I heard him yell after me, but I got too far away to hear the rest. I probably am insane. Who else would deliberately get themselves drugged by a known sex-trafficker's goon?

I danced my way through the crowd, eyes sharp for anyone that looked like they might be on the prowl for a victim. I'm dancing with a group of other girls when a pair of hands wraps around my waist. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to immediately drive my elbow into his gut. I turned my head a little to get a look at him. He's cute, young, but not my type. We danced for a bit and then I let him lead me to a side area guarded by one of his lackeys. He sat down and I sit down right next to him, and lean in.

"Hey," I say, a little out of breath. "English?"

"Don't worry about that... and hello to you too. I haven't seen you around here before." He carried a slight accent, but seemed quite fluent in English.

"Well that's because I just got into town." Not a lie, I did just come into town. He just doesn't know that I was involved in a firefight not 20 hours ago.

"Yeah? From where?"

"Russia. Little bit outside Moscow, actually." That was a lie. I haven't been to Moscow in ages. Not since my grandmother died.

"Mmm, Russian huh?"

"Half. So a little birdie told me all about you..." I leaned closer and rubbed his arm lightly.

"Yeah, what'd they say?"

"Said that you know how to keep a party going _all_ night long."

"That little birdie got a name?"

"Of course," I said with a giggle. Oh, was I good at this...

"You gonna tell me what it is?"

"No," I stuck out my tongue, still giggling. He was giggling now too. It's probably as fake as mine.

"I like you," he said, his confidence through the roof as seen by his arrogant half-smile.

"Yeah? Prove it."

He looked around briefly and motions for a waitress to bring over some drinks before I can lean in to kiss him properly.

"Why don't we have a drink first?" He grabbed both drinks from the waitress' tray and handed me one. I look at it apprehensively. "It's called a Red Lotus. They're delicious." I've had Red Lotuses before. I hate them, actually.

"I love Red Lotuses... You certainly know how to treat a lady, my dear."

Against all better judgement, I took a swig of the drink, and hoped Jet was watching as I faded into unconsciousness. Trust. I would need trust on this night.

* * *

 **JET'S POV**

* * *

Well, fuck.

One button-up shirt and a pair of dark jeans later, I looked like the type of asshole club-friendly guy that looked about one jägerbomb away from slut-shaming a group of women. Yikes, Jet, calm down with the assumptions...

We swerved up to the club, intercepting in front of a huge line of people, and we were immediately swarmed by booming audio and bass as we entered. The entire club was alive with movement, save for the bar of course. Faded pink strobe lights pounded the center of the dance floor, which was full of people. This was one of the few clubs where it was mostly tourists, which meant a lot of people hopefully spoke English. As soon as we got in, I shoved Emily's hand away from my waist. I ain't doing that shit.

"Why don't you head over to the bar? I'm gonna try and draw the recruiter out. Keep your eyes peeled, ok?" Emily spoke loudly into my ear so I could hear her.

"Why the fuck would you do that? Why don't we just find him together?" I growled, annoyed at the change of plans.

"Because I'm going to let him poison me," She says, putting her hands on her hips.

"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? THAT HAS GOT TO BE THE STUPIDEST FUCKING THING YOU COULD THINK OF! EMILY!" I yelled over the music, but she was already dancing her way over to the middle of the floor.

Ugh, she was a real piece of work.

I took an empty seat at the bar, thankfully remembering that the drinking age in China is 18. Oh man... Elated at my newfound legality for alcohol, I immediately ordered two shots of vodka. I could drink a whole bottle before getting drunk, two shots shouldn't be bad, right? Besides, whenever I got buzzed/drunk, my mind eased up a little more. Just me, a little bit buzzed, and a mission. Perfect.

And besides, I kept a watchful eye on Emily, who was currently dancing with some dumb fuck who also happened to look about one jägerbomb away from whispering some nasty shit in Emily's ear. That has got to be our guy, the way he looks at her like a predator does to prey. Most can't see people the way that I do, but I can see that glint in his dark eyes even from this distance. I felt disgusted about it too as I glared at them. I took my first shot of vodka, then my second with no problem. I notice an older man wearing a golden chain and dark clothes sitting two seats over pour something into a large red drink. The man whispered to a waitress and I watched as he discreetly handed her a large bill of Chinese money. An accomplice, good...

The asshole dancing with Emily beckoned the waitress over to them, handing Emily the red drink.

Oh, fuck. She is _so_ goddamn stupid. Is she? No, no, come on, maybe she's right, maybe she knows what she's doing.

But I couldn't focus on that now, because the older man, the target, got up from his barstool and exited the building via a side entrance. I left some money on the counter and followed him, the bar crowded enough to not arouse suspicion.

Out on the street, I see him climb into a small black sedan, not sure what model.

Thing is, with most sexual predators, they don't drive the typical "white van", they drive these smaller cars because they're less suspicious to people. Thanks, Chris Hansen and Dateline NBC.

I casually walked past the sedan, pretending to stumble drunkenly. I see the man eye me up suspiciously, and I smiled in an inebriated fashion, and waved to him. I "accidentally" bumped into his car, sticking a small tracker beacon the size of a thumbnail to his trunk.

Surprisingly, he didn't get out of the car like I was initially expecting.

The only entrance to the building was the front for customers, so I stood outside next to my Harley, pretending to fix something, and wait for the man and Emily to come out. God, I hoped there wasn't a back entrance he took her through. What if this guy I tacked a beacon to wasn't the target? All sorts of scenarios ran through my head.

I heard the guy that was dancing with Emily come out of the front entrance, shouting something charismatically in Chinese as he practically carried Emily out. Once the door clothes, his bright smile faded to one of business.

"Wh-where are we goiiiinnng?" Emily asked sleepily, practically hanging off his arm.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch. Stay quiet, you hear me?" He suddenly became forceful, pretty much dragging her to the mans sedan. She didn't protest at all.

Yes, okay, Emily might be high as fuck right now, but at least I got the target right.

Emily was shoved into the back of the car, luckily not the trunk, and the older man who was driving shouted at the other in Chinese, who promptly swung into the car. The dark sedan pulled out of the parking space in a hurry, swerving around the block's corner.

Instead of diving headfirst after them, I tracked them on my phone to see where they were headed. Yeah, this gave them time to perhaps hurt Emily, but it was the safest option as far as getting us both out alive by being less obvious.

A left turn... right... left again... down four blocks... Bingo.

I zoomed in on the address they finally stopped at, seeing that it was a decrepit-looking restaurant/storefront building with about three stories.

Without wasting time, I put my goggles and red bandanna on and sped off on my motorcycle, remembering the exact route without having to check it. I prayed deep down that Emily was alright. Because if she got hurt, it looked bad on me! Right? Yeah... yeah, that was definitely it.

I parked my Harley a block over so it was less suspicious, setting her down at the curb of a huge apartment complex. I hung the helmet and goggles on the bike's handlebars, keeping on the bandanna but around my neck instead of my face.

The walk to the adjacent street where the building laid reminded me more of NYC, the streets getting darker and darker as I approached the poorer districts of the city. Light posts flicker, and my mood gets more and more nervous, but excited. My first real assassination... it didn't sink in until now. I _couldn't_ fuck this up, not with Emily's life on the line, nor my new reputation.

Around the one side of the building in the alleyway was a ladder leading to an entrance to the third floor, most likely some sort of fire escape. As silently as possible, which wasn't hard for me because of the familiar city atmosphere, I climb the ladder and reach the second floor. It appeared to me to be a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant with living spaces above for the owners/other residents.

Inside, it was musty and silent, and little light poured through. All I had to work with was the bits of street light that made it in behind me, so more than once I shifted myself away from my own shadow so I made sure I didn't trip over any furniture. I put my bandanna back over my face and slowly made note of my surroundings, which appeared to be a loft area living room, nothing out of the ordinary. Hmm...

This "bleeding effect" sure had its perks, I was quite impressed with the way my feet seemed to silently glide over the wooden floors towards the stairs. Not a single creak was heard, but my ears were hypersensitive to any bump that might've greeted me. And as luck would have it, I started to tune in to movement below. I crept down a thin staircase leading to a small metal door that I was sure led to the restaurant. I pressed an ear to the cold metal and listened, but nothing greeted me immediately, so I slowly inched it open. I felt cold as well, pressure engulfing me. What if it was an ambush? No, no, open the door...

Luckily, it was indeed just a closed-down restaurant. Tables were close together and the stools were upside-down on top of them, lights off as well. I heard movement to my immediate right, and twisted my head to look, expecting the approach of an enemy. Nothing, but I seemed to flinch anyway. It was closer now though, and now I could hear bumping and very soft murmuring from somewhere even farther below me. A basement? I looked around before finding another door near the kitchens, slowly opening it, clenching my teeth when I heard it creak slightly on its hinges. Shit, shit, shit... I waited a moment to the side before I went down, seeing a soft light emanating at the bottom of the metal steps. My heart was pounding in my chest. I pressed my back flat against the wall as I slowly mustered up the courage to peek around the corner, the noise now much louder as I made out a small conversation in Chinese that I couldn't decipher.

A single fluorescent portable light lit up the dim space from a table. I saw Emily, handcuffed and passed out on a chair, the two men from the club conversing with two others, probably workers for the targets' brother. I could shoot them perhaps... No, no. I wasn't a good shot at all, not like Emily. I was going to have to hack and slash my way through... but with my only weapons being what I had stored on Shapeshifter- twin daggers, an M9, and bagh nakh- I had little ideas. Unless maybe... hmm... I figured out a plan. Crazy, but with the correct angle...

The first man from the club seemed to talk a bit excitedly to his friends, and I made out a few names. One of the others talks back, pointing at Emily while hissing another name, who I assume is the first man's name: Liang.

Liang proceeded to slap Emily's cheek, as if to wake her up and hurt her at the same time. She mumbled something, stirring from her slumber. I felt my muscles tense even more.

"What... where am I? Jet?" She whined sleepily.

"Who's this you're talking about, bitch?!" The second man, who I think was named Zhang, growled and grabbed a fistful of Emily's hair, pulling her head up. I noticed a bit of blood coming from her mouth and nose.

"Nobody..." She mumbled, eyes fluttering.

Something told me she was bluffing being high at this point. I could only pray the drug wore off by now. Zhang barked something in Chinese to the two underlings, snapping his fingers and pointing at the staircase. Shit!

I had to think quickly, I pressed myself back to the wall of the staircase and tried to muddle through the wired mess of my brain for some sort of solution. This would be easier if I could have both the dagger and bagh nakh. Hold on a second... could I do that?

I took out Shapeshifter, and with a simple but firm thought (and a sharp but quick pain), I blinked down at one of each weapon in my hands.

 _Guide my hands, brother. Guide my blades and let me be the great Assassin that you were._

Both of the underlings stepped into the staircase, one slightly leading the other. I immediately flicked my boot forward so fast from my slight height a few steps up, able to completely catch the first man off-guard with a hard heel kick right into his jaw. The force of the kick made him stumble back with a small yelp into his friend, but with my mind blank and the bleeding effect taking over, I launched myself after them, tucking my knees up before stomping down on the now-fallen underling's ribs. I felt the smallest of smirks erupt on the edges of my lips as I felt the crunch of broken ribs from under my boots. I slowly stood as the second man swiped a knife and tried to reach for his pistol, but it was too late. I swiped both dagger and claws across his face and throat as blood spurted out of the exposed flesh before he fell. The first underling I took care of with a swift stab to his throat as well.

As the effect wore off, I realized how heavily and raggedly I was breathing, and how badly I was sweating. I also realized I hadn't been paying attention to anything besides the two in front of me as I shot my head up to look for Emily.

"You alright there, Jet?" Emily turned around, standing now as she stood over two bloody bodies, a handgun fastened in her fingers.

I was bewildered. "H-how did you..."

She seemed smug about my reaction, smirking. "I'm the best shot there is, and I wasn't a Ranger for nothin'. Now come on, this one's still alive," She kicked who I assumed was Liang, who now just moaned pathetically in response. "And we've got one more target."

I briefly caught my breath as I looked behind me again at the two I just killed. My first assassination. It was strange, I thought it'd feel more... empowering. But it didn't. In fact, I didn't feel anything.

"First kill? Don't worry, it get's easier from here, pal." Emily sighed and pulled Liang up into the same chair she was tied in previously, tying him up instead.

"That's the problem, it felt easy. I... I feel like it didn't count. I don't know why I said that... that's stupid. Sorry." I growled and rubbed my forehead. Why would she care?

"It's not stupid, you're allowed to feel things, and you're allowed to not feel things. Sheesh, everyone's so caught up on emotions nowadays... Humans feel. Humans shut down. It's all in a spectrum of normalcy, Jet. Relax, and help me torture this fucker."

I let out a small sharp exhale from my nose as I smiled a little, joining her for this fucked-up sense of fun.

Didn't take long for the fucker to talk while Emily and I slowly peeled off his fingernails. A hotel, a penthouse suite. Top floor, 87. I let Emily get the final kill for the night.

* * *

 **EMILY'S POV**

* * *

Out at Jet's Harley, I reach in my bag and grab some gear. "Turn around, I'm gonna change."

"You're joking, right? You just killed two fully-armed men in that dress, surely that can continue." I notice Jet's looking at me a bit funny despite his arms being crossed.

"I think you just like how it looks on me. And I'm not infiltrating a building like this, idiot." I huffed, tossing my hair behind my shoulder.

"Not true! I don't give a shit about dresses, they all look the same. Whatever, just hurry up..." Jet got frustrated very easily, I noticed. Well, that much was quite apparent from the get-go, but still. Immeasurably fun to exploit.

"Okay, no peeking," I say playfully, giggling the smallest bit as I started to reach back and unzip.

"I'm not gonna fucking peek..." Jet hissed through clenched teeth as he turned a full 180 degrees away. Even behind his gnarled mess of hair I could tell his ears were pink. Big lyin' idiot.

I quickly changed into the spare clothes I initially packed: a navy blue bulletproof hoodie, red t-shirt, jeans, and black combat boots. I put my hair up into a ponytail. I make sure I have the materials I needed inside my bag. Explosives were gonna be a must, I had a feeling. I made sure to have an extra magazine for my pistol in one of the easy-to-reach front pockets. Hopefully I won't need more than 23 shots.

"Okay, done."

Jet turned and I really wasn't sure if this guy knew when he was blushing. I almost cracked a laugh at him, he was a mess to say the least. Even so, I couldn't deal with it now. I had a mission to complete. Teasing could happen later, of course. We got onto his Harley and sped off towards the hotel.

* * *

"Blue sign. This must be the place!" I called at Jet over the sound of the Harley's engine. He pulled over and killed the engine.

"Wait. That one has a blue sign too. And so does that one. And that one. What the fuck? All these fucking buildings have blue fucking signs? Wait, no, that's red. Uhhh..." Jet seemed confused as well.

"You mean all he said was blue sign, and didn't tell you anything else?" I stretched my arms and back a little.

"I thought 'blue sign' was pretty fucking specific at the time, okay? And you were there too!" Jet grumbled and got off the bike.

We were just about out of options when we heard the screech of tires as a black car turned the corner nearest us sharply. Jet and I ducked into a nearby alley, and peering from our hiding spot, I noticed a couple well dressed guys get out of the car. Two go into the building across the street, but one waits outside at the side door. "That must be it," Jet whispered to me. I waited about a minute or two, then pulled out a smoke pod from my bag. Taking careful aim, I throw it and it lands right at the guard's feet. I gotta say, I had a better arm than most people. There was a slight delay before it popped and released a plume of grey smoke. As soon as the man's vision was obscured, I sprinted towards him with a speed that few could match. He started to say something in Chinese, but before he could finish, I covered his mouth, put my gun on his chest over his heart, and pull the trigger. He fell to the ground with a slight gurgle.

"Holy shit," Jet breathed as we entered the building. There's a guy behind a desk, who says something in Chinese, sounding rather threatening. Jet threw a dagger before I can even aim, hitting the guy square in the mouth.

"Not much time left before they figure out we're here. Let's hurry, come on." I tugged on his sleeve.

We briskly walked over to the elevator, and waited as it sank back down to our floor. A minute or so passed by and the door chimed as it opened. It's empty. That means they don't know about us yet, but it's only a matter of time before they do a routine radio check-in and those two don't respond. At least, that's how it should be run if they were intelligent. Jet and I stood on opposite sides of the elevator as it raced up to floor 87. Suddenly, it screeched to a halt between floor 77 and 78.

"Shit," I say pressing the 87 button frantically, "They know. We gotta get outta here." I look over at Jet, who has a blank but thoughtful look in his weird eyes.

"There's a hatch above us," said Jet, looking up. "I'll give you a boost and then you can pull me up."

He crouched down and boosted me up to the hatch, which was thankfully unlocked. I pushed it open, climbed up and then extended my hand down. Jet jumped and grabbed my forearm. Using the momentum from his jump, I pulled him up to the opening, and he lifted himself through. The elevator had stopped perfectly between the two floors. The door to 78 is overhead, so we climbed up and between the both of us we managed to pry the doors open. We wound up in a long hallway with doors lining each wall. I motioned to Jet to follow me to the stairs. Pistol drawn, I cautiously make my way over to the door to the stairwell. Jet looks through the small window briefly and turned to me.

"Looks like they're gonna send the elevator back a floor and try to ambush us," Jet said as he opened the door and started heading up to 87. We both hustled up the stairs and made it to the 87th floor without a hitch. We opened the door into the hallway, revealing nobody. "Shit, I think they sent everyone after us. You go ahead, I'll stall the guards when they inevitably come back up," Jet said to me as he headed back into the stairwell.

I proceeded through the only door on the floor into the penthouse suite. The door swung open into a small foyer with a bathroom on the left. I approach a corner and peer around it into the living room on my left. There was a huge U-shaped couch in front of a fireplace, where a man in a suit was drinking scotch out of a glass. There's three doors on my right, but I'll have to come back to that later, as the door I walked into swung shut with a loud thud. This caused the man drinking scotch to put his glass down and reach into his jacket for a pistol. He growled something in Chinese, probably something like "Who's there?" or "Show yourself." I stepped lithely around the corner into a low crouch. Two shots cracked through the room, and a force impacting my left shoulder knocked me onto the ground. The man fell over dead thanks to my quick aim, and I look down. There was a bullet flattened and smoking on my shoulder. I brush it off, and thankfully it had only barely punctured through the hoodie. Any element of stealth I had was gone, however, and I still felt an eruption of pain where the bullet had hit. That'd be a nasty bruise.

Just as that thought ran through my head, I hear two doors off beyond the living room slam shut. That must be the remaining brother. I got up and slowly approached the double doors into what I assumed was the master bedroom. I give them a gentle push. Locked. Go figure. I took a step back, took a deep breath, and kicked in the door. Before I could raise my pistol, the man was taking a swing at me with his left arm. I raised my right arm up to divert the blow while simultaneously stepping in with my left foot to close the gap. I striked at him by turning my hips into a nastier blow with my right knee, but he was fast enough to bring both hands down and stop the blow. I followed up with an elbow strike to his ribs, which connected, but not strongly. He took the momentum into a spinning heel kick, which I am only just able to duck under. He had, however, created some distance between us now.

My muay thai's gotten too slow to beat this guy. I began to start thinking how I can grapple this guy to the floor. Most people don't know how to react to combatives, so if I act chaotically, I should be okay. He closed in and threw a jab with his right arm, which I caught, and I kicked my left leg over him, followed by my right heel into his chest, which sends us both to the floor. Only, I wound up with his right arm in a cross arm breaker. Pushing his shoulder down with my legs and pulling his wrist with my arms, the man screamed and writhed in pain as his arm broke at the elbow. I remembered my combatives instructor told me that I would never get to use this move in a real fight, because all you have to do is back roll out of the fall and you're free of the grab. This man, however, did not know that. I pulled the hold just for a little longer, which sent waves of pain up through his arm as I put more stress on the break. I let go of the hold and the man grabbed his arm with his left hand and writhed about on the floor, cursing and crying at me in Chinese. I got up and hobble over to my pistol, which I had lost in the fray. I stood over him and pointed the pistol in his face.

"As a famous assassin once said, 'What wretched things are born of greed.' But you've two sins to feed, and I wonder which led to your grave first," The man's eyes widened as I pulled the trigger, placing a bullet in his forehead. "Rest in peace."

I walked back out into the main room, and spotted the mans papers and computer on the dining room table. It would be a shame if something happened to them. I grabbed some explosives from my bag and begin the process of setting them up around the living room area. I headed to the kitchenette area and poured some scotch from the bar, waiting for Jet to get back. He'd be fine on his own, I told myself. I deserved a small break.

* * *

 **JET'S POV**

* * *

"Shit, I think they sent everyone after us. You go ahead, I'll stall the guards when they inevitably come back up," I said, taking my daggers out again.

Emily went on ahead to the only door to the penthouse suite while I took out my twin daggers and waited at the top of the stairwell for the guards when they returned. Below me, I heard shouts and footsteps, but they sounded like they were a few floors below.

Two, three, four...

Okay, I heard about six distinct voices of different thugs. Six on one... goddamn, my odds were never favorable, were they?

" _Use what you learned from me._ " Ignazio's voice whispered in front of me. A few steps below, his shadowy form flickered before dissipating before my eyes could focus on him.

Hm... He had a point, maybe I could use some tactics I had picked up from the Animus session again. Then again, Ignazio was pretty fucked in the head. But so was I.

Their voices and footsteps started to climb as they talked and shouted at each other in hurried Chinese. I looked down, they haven't spotted me yet. They were three flights below me now.

Quickly, I raced at the opposite wall, running part way up it, and flinging myself backwards at the stairs' flat railing and sprinting down it, watching my balance. Ignazio's parkour skills helped immensely; I didn't miss a beat. I jumped from wall to railing, wall to railing... all the way down until the thugs were right in front of me, not prepared for an American eighteen-year-old kid to be racing at a rather insane speed towards them.

I unleashed Shapeshifter in its dual bagh nakh form, tiger claws in both hands, and slashed right through the first two thugs up front, sending me and their bodies tumbling down the stairs. Immediately I feel bullets slide into the body that's on top of me now, and I let my body go limp. I hear them trot down the stairs, whispering in Chinese as they surround me. Two down, four to go.

I feel two pairs of hands on either side of me lift the body from on top of me. In a quick flash of gold, I extended both arms and hands to either side of me, puncturing my claws deep into the two mens calf muscles, and used the strength I had within me to pull my elbows in and quickly fling them to the ground before they could react. I heard their skulls crash into the concrete ground, at the least dazed.

I quickly grabbed the back of the body on top of me and stood up, keeping the body in front of me like a giant meat shield. The two thugs in front of me now hesitated, their pistols shaking as they exchanged glances between each other as if saying, "What do we do now?"

I let out a short laugh, shoving the body into one of the guards and leaping at the other, tackling him to the ground and burying the claws into him.

I heard gunshots coming from the other guard, who already shoved the body off of him. I ducked, moving myself forward in a flash of movement, and leapt up and disarmed his pistol by slashing my claws upward and clipping the trigger of the pistol and sending it flying down the stairwell. Probably not the safest method of disarming, but it worked for now.

The guard took me quickly by the shoulders and smashed his head into mine, making me instantly dizzy and as I stumbled backward. He took this opportunity to punch me again and again, both in the face and stomach.

The familiar senses from so many years in street fights kicked in. I grabbed the man's hand just as he flung a punch, and kneed him in the crotch, making him fall in absolute pain.

No mercy was given as I double-slashed his face and neck open.

"You're an idiot, Jet..." She said, stumbling back to the open bar and taking another drink.

"How much d-did you drink?" I asked, looking at her bottle.

"I don't know... hehehehe... like... thiiiis much!" She says, motioning to the bottle, which was 3/4 gone.

"Daaammn, girl, you ain't a lightweight, that's for sure." I whistled.

"Well, this girl is Russian!" She giggled.

"I'm Russian too! We have soooo much in common..." I say exaggeratedly, letting the words just slip off at this point.

I was getting to the point where I just _said_ shit without even thinking it over. Oh fuck, this was not going to be good.

"If you would be less mean, we could be friends..." She said, looking rather sad as she started absently picking the sticker off of the bottle.

"I'm sorry for bein' mean to you... I don't really mean it, I just kinda like... I don't know." I slurred, not even knowing what to say but wanting to comfort her.

"I know you're not _all_ bad... you can be nice." She said, smiling and looking at me. Her eyes were really pretty... prettier than before? Was that possible? What?

"I'm nice to the people I like," I say, elbows on the bar to get closer.

"You must hate me, then!" She scoffed, a smile on her face as she spun away from me with the bottle.

"Oh, I absolutely _hate_ you, princess." I said sarcastically, smiling.

"You want some now, hotshot?" She spins back over to the bar, giggling as she swayed the bottle of tequila in front of me.

"They say you shouldn't mix drinks." I say, biting my lip as I was tempted to drink it anyway.

"Just a taste, then."

Without warning, she reaches for my collar and pulls me across the bar into a kiss.

It didn't register until about... five seconds in? Yeah, I could definitely taste the tequila...

She pulled away, pushing me back into my chair, giggling madly again as she tipped her bottle back again.

I prayed my face wasn't as red as it felt; even without the kiss my face got pretty red when I was drunk.

"Where'd that come from?" I snickered, now feeling a little more confident as I took another sip of my drink. I should probably stop soon.

"Oh you know...You're _funny._ Your face looks like a-a-a tomato!" She exclaimed, then slapped her knee in amusement, laughing so hard she almost fell off her stool.

Well, shit, my face was apparently pretty red, and the realization of such probably just made it more-so.

"Uhh... I think you're done." I said, laughing as I walked behind the counter and grabbed the bottle from her.

"Noooo... there's still some left..." She whined, trying to drunkenly grab the bottle from me, but I held it at a distance from her. There was still about 1/5 left.

"Neither of us will drink it, okay? We gotta... uh... we gotta... were we supposed to do somethin'?" I ask, drawing a blank.

"We gotta make the penthouse go 'booooom'!" She squeaked, her hands animating an explosion.

"Oooh yeah. Come on, we should go." I said, grabbing her hand.

"Noooo... let's watch a movie!" She pulled my hand back.

"We can't, we gotta go before the Shanghai police get us!" I grinned, pulling her too.

"Ooookay... are you... are you too drunk to drive?" She asked quizzically as we walked out. She's practically hanging off of me because she's so drunk.

"I'm completely... Fine. Lessgo! We gotta put you at the airport to go home." I said, disguising a belch behind a fist.

"You're not flying home with meeeee?" She whined as we keep almost tripping down the flights of stairs.

"No, I have work to do up north. I'm sure I'll see ya again... what, you gonna miss me that quickly?" I smiled.

"I dunno! I might. You're way more fun than those other Assassins..." She grabbed a fistful of my shirt to keep herself steady.

The flights of stairs seem _endless_ , especially to my inebriated mind. Down, down, down, around, down, down...

"Jet... Can you carry me?" Emily whined finally, taking her shoes off. I knew how drunk she must be if she was seriously giving up her own independence to let me do something for her.

"Oh, _anything_ for you, princess." I rolled my eyes, but allowed myself to give her a piggyback the rest of the way down.

"I wish you could be this nice all the time." She whispered tiredly into my ear, her arms wrapping around my neck.

I let out a deep sigh as we finally left the building. She clicked a button on her phone, and we walked away without a second expression as the top of the building exploded into flames.

"I'll try my best, Em."


End file.
